


Getting the Best of the Gloomilows

by zaubernuss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 7th year, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Occlumency, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slow Burn, ss/hg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaubernuss/pseuds/zaubernuss
Summary: Sequel to "A Kiss for the Netherfairies": After their life-changing encounter, Severus is adamant that he and Hermione keep their distance until graduation. But how can he turn his back when he finds that Hermione is suffering? Can Occlumency help? A story about healing & finding new perspective. M-rated for adult themes, descriptions of violence, mild PTSD and sexual content.Though the sequel is less of a chamber play and has a little bit more 'action', you will once again find Hermione and Severus in lengthy discussions... about how Hermione managed to obliviate her parents and what became of them, the fine and subtle art of Occlumency and Legilimency, what's really behind the pureblood ideology and what the Hogwarts librarian has to do with it. Furthermore, those discussions reveal how Draco feels about Harry and Hermione now, how Harry's relationship with Snape develops and the concern Luna has for many Hogwarts inhabitants, who are suffering a severe outbreak of Gloomilows. You will also learn about Bluedrags, Whotnits, and Weapknats and the truth behind Lemon Sherbets.Please note that this is entirely focused on SS/HG; all others will only be minor roles.





	1. The Incident in the Hallway

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to 'A Kiss for the Netherfairies'. You might be able to read this story without having read it first, but if you do, some things will probably not make sense. In a nutshell, this is what happened previously: Hermione has to fulfill a vow she made during the Trio's search for Horcruxes, which leads to a very lengthy talk between her and the Potions Master. During that – in parts very emotional – discussion about previous events and motivations that led to them, important secrets are revealed with regard to Severus' role in the war and his relationship to Harry and Hermione. Hermione confesses her longstanding attraction to him, and in the course of the evening, they discover that there might be more to their relationship than they both had thought possible.

Friday evenings at Hogwarts were usually quiet, at least for the staff. Most teachers avoided giving out detentions on the last day of the week – not primarily for the sake of the students, but rather for their own. With the weekend coming, one could put off some of the classwork in favour of a relaxing evening with colleagues at the Hogshead for a glass of firewhisky and a game of Gobstones or to share the latest gossip.

The Potions Professor was not known for either activity, but he always looked forward to a quiet, solitary Friday-evening dinner in his rooms instead of sitting at the staff table in the Great Hall. He had just finished his habitual evening shower and was in the middle of re-dressing, when the schoolnurse's sheepdog Patronus burst into his quarters.

"Severus – I need you in the hospital wing immediately," Poppy's clipped voice informed him. "There has been an unfortunate Gryffindor-Slytherin run-in, and one of your house has been injured. Minerva is attending a board meeting and not available. Someone needs to sort out what has brought about this attack."

As soon as the dog had delivered the message, it dissipated, and Severus quickly slipped into his vest and frock coat and spelled the buttons closed. Though he had firmly refused to be reinstated as headmaster after his long convalescence, he had grudgingly agreed to accept the deputy position. Minerva simply wouldn't stop pestering him, ultimately to the point of begging him on her knees. None of the other teachers had volunteered, and frankly, none of them were intimidating and formidable enough to keep the ministry bureaucrats in line and their noses out of Hogwarts' business. The board meeting tonight was just about the usual, mostly technical stuff – nothing Minerva couldn't handle, or he would have gone in her stead.

He was high on adrenaline when he rushed to the hospital wing instead, his robes billowing behind him. Poppy's message about a Slytherin-Gryffindor confrontation had conjured up unwelcome memories of a similar incident two years ago, when his one godson had been cursed by the other to the point of near-death with a nasty spell of Severus' own creation.

He half expected to find Draco lying in a pool of blood, and his dark-haired attacker staring down at him with a blank expression. He even felt his emotions resurface, the dread and fear he had felt at the possibility of Draco dying, and the cold fury at Harry Potter, who had shamelessly and remorselessly lied to his face.

Instead, he was very surprised to find a knocked-out first-year Slytherin and a very distraught Hermione Granger, and his heart gave an extra beat.

"The boy got hit by a stunner and was thrown against a wall in the library corridor," the nurse explained briefly, while tending to the child. She threw another diagnostic spell and frowned. "I think he might have a concussion, but I'll have to awaken him to know for sure. Please see to Miss Granger while I take care of young Mr. McGregor, Severus."

He quickly scanned the girl who was huddled on the edge of one of the hospital beds. "Is she injured, too?" he asked, grateful for his ability to hide his feelings and remain outwardly calm, no matter how his heart raced. She didn't seem hurt, at least not in a way he could assess at first glance. Had she been there when the boy was attacked and tried to help?

"No," Poppy replied. "Apparently, she's the one who threw the stunner."

Disbelievingly, his eyes flew back from the nurse to the Gryffindor, who had been on his mind more often than not in the last couple of weeks. No matter how hard he had tried to shake memories of a certain encounter with her from his head, he had been utterly unsuccessful. Images of her standing in front of him, fiercely arguing her point, crying tears over his near demise, and smiling at him with affection in her eyes – they were all burned into his retina. There were other memories that were even more persistent and stole into his dreams at night... that of a soft and yielding body in his arms and sweet lips pressed to his... but at least in his waking moments, he managed to keep those firmly locked behind his Occlumency walls. Right now, she was a picture of misery and guilt, her head buried in the arms she had slung around her drawn knees.

"You threw a stunner at a fellow student?" he asked, feeling a mixture of confusion and shock. "Why, in Merlin's name?"

She didn't even look up, and he wasn't sure if she hadn't heard him or if she couldn't bear to look him in the eyes.

"Miss Granger!" he snapped, his voice a little sharper than he had intended. His authoritative tone got through to her. Her head rose, and he could see that she was pale as death. There was moisture pooling in her eyes, threatening to overflow any moment.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, her legs slipping out from her hold. She threw her arms around her upper body instead and started to slightly rock back and forth. "I didn't mean to! He scared me, and I drew my wand... I only meant to defend myself!"

"From a first year?" He didn't get it. "What did he do that warranted sending him headfirst into a wall?"

"Nothing – he did nothing!" She broke into tears. "He came jumping at me from behind a tapestry all of a sudden. He startled me. I thought it was..."

"A Snatcher," he finished for her, as understanding dawned.

She nodded, her small frame shaking. "I wasn't really thinking at all. It happened so fast. I just reacted."

He looked at the sobbing girl and could have hit himself for not seeing it right away. She clearly was in shock. "Please stop crying," he said more softly now, reaching out and putting his hand on her shoulder in a feeble attempt to calm her. For a moment, he felt the strange urge to just gather her in his arms – something he had never done with anyone in his life, not even with crying, home-sick Slytherin firsties. His usual method of comfort was to give out hankies and pretty much tell them the same thing he had just told her. And usually, it had about the same effect it had on Granger. None whatsoever.

"I can't!" she wailed miserably. "I almost killed him!"

"Nonsense," he reasoned, feeling totally out of his depth. "You just knocked him out. Your stunners are not forceful enough to cause serious harm." At least, that had been something he had always berated her for when he'd been her teacher in Defence. And while it was true that the power behind her combative spells was lacking when aimed at a grown person, it was probably a different case with a mere slip of a boy like McGregor. And she probably knew that, as his attempt at logic didn't comfort her either.

"It's my fault he's in the hospital wing, all bruised and bloody."

He pulled a blanket from one of the beds and wrapped it around her shoulder. It would have to do. "He isn't bloody," he said. At least that much was true. "And he'll be up again in no time. Poppy is taking care of him as we speak. Now calm down and talk to me. What exactly happened?"

She pulled the blanket close around her, seeming grateful for the warmth and for having something to cling to. "I think it was supposed to be a joke," she said, wiping her face. "He came jumping out from behind a tapestry when I was walking to the library. I hexed him before I even saw what was coming at me."

In that, she had certainly shown remarkable reflexes. "How did you manage to draw your wand so quickly?" he inquired.

"I didn't. I already had it ready at hand."

"You were only walking to the library," he repeated with a frown, suspicion forming in his guts. "Why were you holding your wand ready to attack?"

"I didn't think about it..." she said, barely audible. "It's become a habit. I go nowhere without having my wand ready anymore. I even go to sleep with it."

"I see." It wasn't surprising after what she'd been through. Most likely, it had saved all their lives a couple of times. However, the fact that she still was so on edge that she couldn't relax even in sleep and had her wand ready even while walking in the corridors of Hogwarts spoke of more deep trauma than he had realised. "Young McGregor seems to be a bit of a prankster. He probably didn't know how unwise it is to pull that kind of joke on someone who has fought in a war. I'll make sure that this matter is addressed. Your quick reaction was commendable, and while on the run, it probably saved lives, but now it's putting your fellow students at risk. You need to let down your guard."

"Do you think I don't know that?" she asked, angrily wiping her eyes. "What do you suggest I do?"

"For now, I suggest you take a calming potion and get some rest. It's probably best if you stay here for the night, too."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're clearly not fine, Miss Granger. I can see how you're shaking. I'll send Miss Weasley up here – she can fetch whatever you might need from your room, or you can ask a house elf to bring it. Poppy?"

The matron, who had finished tending to his Slytherin, came over. "How is the boy?"

"A mild concussion and some bumps and bruises. He'll be alright. It'd be best if you spoke to him, though. He's a bit rattled right now. He literally doesn't know what hit him."

"I'll speak to him and also inform Minerva. You might want to give Miss Granger a Draught of Peace and keep her here for the night. She's a bit rattled, too."

"Professor Snape?" Hermione caught his sleeve when he turned to leave. "Please tell Malcolm I'm really, really sorry."

"I will. But don't worry about it now. Get some rest, Miss Granger."

*'*'*'*'*'*'*

Minerva, once informed about what had happened, decided to rule the incident an unfortunate accident rather that an attack on fellow student and forwent handing out punishment, and for once, Severus agreed with this leniency. They made sure that especially younger students were made aware of the fact that people who had needed to fear for their safety during the whole last year were not prone to react kindly to being ambushed or scared. His Slytherin had been just as mortified about his ill-conceived prank as his victim-turned-attacker once he had made him understand what students, especially those of other houses than Slytherin, had been confronted with during last year's reign of terror, and he had apologised to Hermione.

Severus himself hadn't spoken to the girl since, except during his lessons. He tried hard to think of her only as 'the girl' or Miss Granger, as if she was just another student. But maintaining that self-deception was getting increasingly difficult the more often he thought about her, and due to the incident in the hallway, she was now more prominent in his mind than ever.

Though he hadn't voiced his concerns to the Headmistress, the incident had him worried. Constant vigilance was fine, as long as it didn't turn into full-fledged paranoia. Mad-Eye-Moody had been the living proof of that. He wondered if Miss Granger's obviously high stress-levels called for intervention.

He observed her more keenly, but found to his relief that it must have been a one time incident. She seemed relaxed enough in his class. He looked for signs of unusual agitation or distress, but she seemed perfectly at ease. If anything, she was a little too nonchalant for his liking. Her potions were still faultless, albeit a result of mechanical routine rather than inspiration. She responded when asked a question, but rarely volunteered and raised her hand in class. A lot of times, he had the impression that her mind wasn't entirely focussed on the subject at hand.

He had first feared that her new-found ease or rather laxity with Potions was a disconcerting consequence of the shift in their relationship – that she was taking liberties after his moment of weakness. There was no denying that he didn't intimidate her anymore. When he scowled, scolded and rained acerbic comments, she lowered her head like all the other students, but he sometimes had the strong suspicion that she was in truth hiding a smile. Nobody would find fault with her demeanor, as it remained respectful and unobstrusive, but she seemed unfazed by any critique or harsh comment he made. Her new-found serenity was unfamiliar, as she had always seemed most hurt and angered by his cutting remarks.

A discrete inquiry among her other teachers revealed that this loss of drive was a general development which had been prominent even at the beginning of the school year. She did her assignments dutifully, but without the over-eagerness and ambition she had always displayed before. Her essays now seldom extended above the required length of parchment, and while he appreciated the new brevity when correcting, it was in itself very atypical for the girl who had always gone way above and beyond of what was required.

Of course, they all had changed after the war, but with her, the changes were at the same time more subtle and yet more pronounced. She had matured and lost a lot of those characteristics he had always found annoying: The constant need to prove herself which had come across as showing-off; her over-correctness, which had sometimes unpleasantly reminded him of Percy Weasley. There had always been a touch of 'too much' on everything she did. If it was now toned down to a degree that it no longer screamed from every action, it was a positive development.

So he let her be for the moment – not that he had much choice, anyway. It'd be extremely hypocritical of him if he scolded her for not raising her hand at every question, when he had admonished and ridiculed her for doing so for years.

However, he continued to have an eye on her, inside his class and out. He told himself that it was just to watch out for anything that might give reason for concern, but deep inside he knew that he was lying to himself. He simply was unable to not watch her. She was often on his mind, whether he saw her or not. Their one-night encounter in his office had shaken him more than he was prepared to admit to himself.

He still couldn't quite comprehend how it had happened. In a persisting, rational and rather courageous manner she had talked herself under his skin. It had taken him a couple of days to analyse their lengthy discussion. He even re-watched his memories of it in a Pensive, reassuring himself that he hadn't dreamed the whole incident, and figuring out his own feelings. There was no denying it: She had turned a huge part of his world – and of his self-conception – upside down. The entire situation was confusing, to put it mildly. It surely promised a world of trouble.

He didn't know what he felt for her now – his emotions were almost as much in a tangle where she was concerned as his feelings regarding The-Boy-Who-Lived were. He was impressed with her. Greatly so. Her braveness, her openness of mind and her unwavering loyalty awed him. Her intellect, her intuition and her empathy were utterly astounding in a girl so young. He was amazed at her strength in the light of everything she had had to endure. Yet he had come to feel oddly protective of her.

This was perhaps the most puzzling fact, as he had never really felt protective of anyone, not even of Potter. Keeping him alive had been more of a duty, a commitment, but certainly not a heart-felt yearning. He wondered why he felt it so strongly for her. Maybe because, despite her demonstration of strength, she looked frail and vulnerable ever since she had returned to Hogwarts? She had always been a small thing, but now she was also too thin, too pale. He had noticed that she didn't seem to eat much during meals. A lot of time, she loaded her plate, but merely shifted the food around on it after having taken a few bites.

As her teacher, he felt responsible for his student's well-being, and that sense of duty even extended to Gryffindors. But he couldn't shake the growing suspicion that what he felt was more than just the responsibility of a teacher towards his pupils. Something in her called out to him, something that he was only subconsciously aware of.

So he continued to watch her for clues as to what it might be that had him so oddly – entangled.

###### footnote

Sorry - the first chapter is a bit short. The ones to follow (most likely another 15) will be longer. As always, your comments are very welcome!


	2. The Soothing Quality of Potions

Summary of Chapter 1 - The Incident in the Hallway

Hermione is scared by a first year who plays a prank on her. She inadvertently hexes him and injures him in the process. Severus is called to the hospital wing in the Headmistress' absence. He realises that something is amiss with the Gryffindor student with whom he shares a very special relationship and decides to keep an even closer eye on her.

* * *

**The Soothing Quality of Potions**

Although her friends insisted that she wasn't to blame and that the boy should have known better, Hermione had taken her involuntary attack on a fellow student very much to heart. She had been shocked to realise that her paranoia put innocents at risk and took active measures to ensure that it wouldn't happen again. From that day on, she made a conscious effort to always store away her wand when she roamed the hallways, but it took a lot out of her and put her in a constant state of nervous alertness. She felt naked and defenceless without her wand in her hand, although she couldn't have said against what she thought she needed to defend herself. At least she still had her small beaded bag with her at all times, safely hidden in her robes. It was probably an exaggerated precaution, but it gave her a small sense of security. Whatever happened, she was prepared.

There still were a few Death Eater out there who had so far evaded capture, but they were well advised to stay in hiding, as Aurors all over the country were still on the look-out for them. There was nothing to fear from Slytherins anymore, either. During the horrible last year, the 'Snakes' had been the only students relatively safe from the Carrow's reign of terror, which had encouraged some of them to prance around and act worse than ever, safe in the knowledge that they had the upper hand. Now, they were subdued, keeping to themselves and not interested in drawing attention to themselves.

That was even true for Draco Malfoy. For the first time since Hermione had known him, he was behaving downright decently, which had been a little perturbing at first.

There were quite a few things that were perturbing her at the moment. Hermione was aware that, aside from bearing physical scars, she was emotionally damaged at some level, too. They probably all were, but only after the incident in the hallway did she realise to what extent she herself had been affected.

When Minerva had offered all students who hadn't been able to take their NEWTs last year to return to Hogwarts and finish their education, Hermione had accepted with an immense feeling of relief. Hogwarts was her home, especially now that she had no other place to go. Her parents were still in Australia, oblivious to the fact that they even had a daughter.

Helping to undo the damage to the castle and to make sure that school term could resume as usual had been therapeutic. She wished it was just as simple to clear away the debris inside her own mind – those ugly scars that still gave testimony to all she had been through in the last year.

She had thought that peace, once reestablished, would bring happiness and a life full of possibilities. But instead, she found herself feeling strangely adrift. For years, every thought, every plan, every action had been dedicated to bringing forth a world without Voldemort in it. He had always been the influencing factor behind everything, her thoughts, even her dreams. And now that he was finally gone, all purpose seemed to have gone with him.

Hermione cast a wistful glance at her friends who were sitting at the table next to her, oblivious to her woolgathering, as their attention was focussed on their teacher. Harry and Ron at least had plans. They had both been pre-accepted into the Auror Department – under the condition that they completed their last year in Hogwarts and got the required NEWT scores. That, unfortunately, included an A in potions.

Finally having the right motivation, they were both following their professor's lecture with rapt attention. It helped that the disdain they had formerly held for their most hated teacher had changed into something that could be called grudging respect, tinted with a hint of guilt for having been proven wrong for mistrusting him so long, and an equal measure of annoyance at the fact.

Harry and Ron had always assumed that Hermione wanted to become an Auror, too. But the job had held little attraction for her even before the war, and certainly even less now that it was over. She had seen enough violence for a lifetime, and after her ordeal at Malfoy Manor, she'd be happy if she never came face to face with a dark wizard ever again. Memories of Bellatrix and Greyback still haunted her and gave her nightmares. She filed that away as normal; after all, she wasn't the only one who suffered from them. A lot of people who had fought in the final battle were showing mild to severe symptoms of PTSD.

She knew for sure that Ron suffered from it, although he never talked about it. His strategy had been to firmly push all thoughts of the war from his mind. For him, it was over, period. Apart from putting a ban of silence on everything that concerned the last year, his coping method was the same that he had applied to all stressful situations: snogging and shagging. It had been the only reason, Hermione had realised in retrospective, for their very brief affair about a year ago. She had known they were different to the point of incompatibility, but at a time when both had felt despair and utter desolation, it had seemed right. After all, they had always been together, and being there for each other in a more intimate way had been the logical step.

But logic only worked so far when feelings were concerned. Being with Ron had been familiar, it had been what everybody expected, it hadn't required a lot of soul searching. But while they had friendship and loyalty, they lacked passion and trust. Hermione had never really gotten over Ron's abandonment in the Forest of Dean. Due to this deep disappointment – and for a lot of other reasons, too – she didn't feel anything for him anymore apart from friendship, and even that, she had come to realise, was a bit unbalanced. Ron had never been exceptionally deep or understanding. Now that he had so many problems of his own to deal with, he had become even more self-centred. He never saw that she was suffering, too.

All that Ron had perceived of the hollowness she felt deep inside was a lack of passion in their relationship. Hurt by her coldness, he had come to the conclusion that she must be frigid. No surprise there – she had always been the bookworm, the braniac, whose only passion had been learning. Her views and her actions were usually the result of a careful thought-process; passion didn't really fit into that.

So they had separated – officially they were still friends, but they were both hurt by each other's rejection and the loss of closeness that came with it. They didn't really have much to say to each other at the moment.

With Harry, it was different. He and Hermione had an understanding about each other that didn't require many words. Nevertheless, Hermione had kept herself slightly apart from him when he was so much in the limelight in the aftermath of the war. He was The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, rescuer of the wizard world, a hero. There was no day without an article in the Daily Prophet about him, nowhere he could go without being tailed by reporters. Harry somehow had found a way to deal with it. After all, he had been famous all his life; he was used to people staring at him, people having expectations of him, people admiring him.

But Hermione couldn't deal with being in the focus of publicity. It made her want to melt into the floor and become invisible. She didn't see herself as hero – there were others who deserved that title. People who had devoted their entire lives to the cause, and had suffered beyond measure for it.

She cast a glance at her Potions Professor, who was demonstrating the right way to handle the ingredients required for the particularly nasty potion they were supposed to brew today. He was a hero. A man who deserved so much better than what he got. A man whom she wished happiness more than anyone besides Harry.

She had not seen much of him outside Potions class – except for that moment in the hospital wing, when she had been too distraught to appreciate the fact that he had been there. Although she had never shared time with him before their one-night-encounter a few weeks ago, she now missed him. There was so much she wanted to talk to him about, ask him or simply tell him to unburden her mind. But it wasn't going to be. For another seven months, just watching him and listening to him in Potions class would have to be enough.

With an internal sigh, Hermione re-focussed her attention on the right technique for peeling the delicate, silver skin from the juicy bulbs of the Moonflower without tearing it and rendering it useless for the potion. It seemed easy and effortless when he did it. His hands were working quickly and deftly and with the same economical precision that was typical for his entire demeanour. Hermione had always had a partiality for hands, and his were perfect: Long fingers, well-groomed, nicely shaped nails and visible veins on the back of his hands. Slender, yet strong and manly.

Like always, she became enthralled with the precision and efficiency of his movements and the intense focus he was applying to his task. Not for the first time, she envisioned herself at the centre of his rapt attention, wondering how his graceful fingers would feel handling her delicate skin instead...

A sharp voice cut into her wandering thoughts. "Miss Granger!"

Startled, Hermione looked up and found her Potions Professor looking at her with a frown on his forehead. Her face flashed hot. Merlin! Hopefully, the rumours that he routinely legilimised students in his class were merely that – rumours. "Sir?" she asked, hardly daring to meet his eyes.

"If it's not too much to ask, would you kindly answer my question?"

"I... I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't hear it... My thoughts were – elsewhere."

"Obviously! Well, would you enlighten us and tell us what exactly you found so distracting in the dungeon classroom, which is bare of windows and hasn't changed its decor in the last 20 years, that you found your mind wandering instead wondering?"

"Ehm... I'd rather not, Sir."

There was a short and awkward silence, in which he kept his stern gaze fixed on her, as if debating internally how to react to her remark. Students seemed to be holding their breaths, too. It had been a long time since her Potions Professor had last lost his temper in class. His dangerously low voice usually was a good indicator that he might do so any moment now. "Not paying attention and being rude and impolite towards your instructor, Miss Granger?"

"I'm really sorry, Professor Snape," she murmured, averting her gaze again, still red with embarrassment. "I don't mean to be rude. I apologise."

"If my lectures are boring you," he hissed, disregarding her apology in true Snape fashion, "maybe you should consider switching Potions for a subject that encourages the idle wandering of the mind and the inner eye... such as Divination."

Hermione blushed more deeply – partly in acute embarrassment, partly in anger. Doubtlessly, he was aware what she thought about Divination. By suggesting that she left his class – which he hopefully didn't mean! – he was threatening to cut her life line, though he probably wasn't aware of that. For various reasons, Potions was the only thing that kept her sane at the moment.

"I really prefer your class, Sir," she said calmly. "I'll pay attention now."

"See that you do, Miss Granger – or I might find methods to help you concentrate."

Professor Snape was his usual snarky self with her – he truly behaved as if the evening in his office, which had changed their relationship on a fundamental level, had never happened. Sometimes she wondered if it really hadn't – if she'd been hallucinating the entire incident. Her mind wasn't entirely trustworthy at the moment. But then, he was a very good actor.

If he did not treat her differently as before, it might be due to his discipline and sheer, stubborn determination. Something in her own behaviour, however, had changed considerably: Unlike before, she didn't take his insults to heart anymore. As far as his expectations of her achievement in his class were concerned, she would probably always come up short. She liked Potions and her brewing was always accurate. But she lacked true talent and inspiration for the subject. She preferred sticking to the recipe and didn't ever try to improve it as he had done when still a student. Experimenting, in her eyes, implied questioning the books, and thus people who clearly had more expertise than she did. And why should she question him, doubtlessly an eminent authority in the field of potions?

While she knew she would never truly impress him, she also knew that she couldn't completely fail in his class either, because she was meticulous and able to follow instructions. No, failing or disappointing Severus Snape was no longer one of her worries, the almost desperate need to prove herself to him no longer drove her. She felt safe in the knowledge that she had his respect, even his trust, and, quite possibly, his affection.

She felt a surge of warmth well up insider her when she dared raise her gaze back to her professor, no longer in the focus of his attention. He had always been formidable as a teacher. Competent in his subject, thorough in his instructions, fastidious in teaching them the right method of ingredient preparation and brewing. And he had no problem upholding discipline. That hadn't changed since the war. But his lessons were noticeably less tense now, and all in all students could count on being treated equally and justly. He was still strict and demanding, and his comments were as sarcastic as ever. But now that he dished out his insults more evenly, other students than Slytherins had a chance to appreciate the wit in them, even if his humour was rather biting.

The intimidating glowers he shot at his students – still his most effective weapon – no longer affected her. While other students cringed at his criticism and sheepishly looked into their cauldrons to escape the intensity of his gaze, she usually had a hard time tearing her eyes from him.

He did cut an impressive figure, especially now that he was less stressed and his overall health had much improved. Severus Snape was a force to be reckoned with, and strangely, she found it exhilarating and reassuring at the same time. He was like a rock in a world that had shifted its axis.

Just like Hogwarts, he was a constant, a reliable and indelible part of her life, and he had come to mean even more to her after the confessions they had made to each other, the secrets they had revealed and the intimacies they had shared. And by that, she wasn't even thinking about the kiss. In fact, she was trying very hard not to think about the kiss at all. Potion class would become unbearable if she did. No, she had locked those memories firmly away in some dark corner of her mind – like the Christmas tree baubles in a chest in the basement... beautiful, valuable and fragile, something to behold and to cherish that you only took out for very special occasions to sigh at, in wonderment and in pleasure...

A hard elbow in her ribcage tore her out of her silent revery. "Hermione!" Harry softly admonished her in a strange reversal of roles. "Come on – we're supposed to get the ingredients and start brewing. What's the matter with you today?"

"Sorry," she whispered back. "I guess I drifted off again."

"Are you trying to get a detention? Seriously!"

'If only!' Hermione thought wistfully as she made her way to the storeroom. She'd love to get a detention with Professor Snape, but it was highly unlikely to happen. They had agreed to keep their distance, after all, and a forced intimacy like an evening in detention, as enticing as that sounded, certainly went against that decision. His decision, to be precise. One she understood. But one that wasn't easy to accept, nonetheless.

Sometimes, when they were having dinner in the Great Hall, she thought that she felt his gaze on her. Had he really been watching her? She pondered the thought while she searched the cabinet shelves for the required potion ingredients. Every time she had looked up to check, he was just staring at his plate, or scanning the crowd with a bored expression on his face. But that didn't have to mean a thing – he was too much a spy to be caught spying. Was it possible that he was missing her as well? Or had he convinced himself that it had been nothing but a strange interlude, a spur of the moment thing that she regretted by now?

Feeling a bit unsettled by that thought, she made it back to her table and started brewing. She had never tried this potion before, but she knew the theory. It seemed easy enough. The only difficulty came shortly before the potion was finished, when she had to make sure that it remained hot enough without boiling while giving it the exact number of stirs. Until then, she was safe to ponder these important personal questions even while working: Did he think she had regrets? Or worse, what if he had them?

She had felt so sure, almost euphoric because suddenly, everything had seemed so clear, but now, she felt a bit of the elation that had held her high since that evening fade away. What if she had over-interpreted his reaction? Well, his physical reaction had been clear enough, but that was hardly surprising. He was human, after all, a man of flesh and blood. She had never doubted that. But what if it had been just that? A reaction to the flattering adoration of a young girl who had just confessed her crush on him?

She dropped the porcupine quills into the potion and counted her stirs. 'Stop it, Hermione!' she then told herself firmly. 'This isn't you! Since when have you become so insecure? You're a mature, competent witch!' But that was the point, wasn't it? The root of her insecurities. What did she have to offer a man like him? If even Ron found her lacking...

Forcing herself to focus on her potion again, she shook off her sudden distress and reached for the next ingredient. Before she could drop it into the cauldron, however, her wrist was caught by a strong hand and torn away from it.

"Miss Granger!" her Professor thundered, his face furious. "What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?"

Confused by his intervention and his touch she glanced into his dark eyes. "I was dropping in the beetle eyes," she answered, perturbed.

"Really? Then let's have a look, shall we?" He turned her wrist around and beckoned her to open her closed fist. "Fire seeds," she gasped. How had he noticed from a distance, if she herself had not? The two ingredients looked deceptively alike. However, adding fire seeds to this particular potion had a high chance of exploding her cauldron, as it did react negatively with the porcupine quills already in it. Which is why beetle eyes and fire seeds were stored in different shelves and in differently shaped and differently coloured, clearly labelled containers.

"How could you have noticed..."

"Because I was paying attention, Miss Granger, as you were clearly not!" he fumed. "Bottle your base and clean up your work table. You are done for today. And see me after class."

Thoroughly chastised for the grave mistake he had just saved her from committing and cursing her own inattention, she hastened to obey.

* * *

He was still fuming when the last students had left his classroom and Hermione was approaching his desk, her head held low. She was obviously embarrassed – which she well deserved to be.

"I'm really aghast at your performance, Miss Granger!" he shot at her. "I suppose I don't have to lecture you on the importance of concentration when brewing dangerous and highly volatile potions! Such carelessness is highly unusual for you! Are you deliberately trying to get a detention?"

"What? No!" Her eyes flew up and she finally met his gaze. "I wouldn't do that!"

From the former head girl, stickler for rules and model student he would never have believed it. But the girl in front of him was not the same bushy-haired Know-it-All anymore. With her slightly too nonchalant attitude she had lately demonstrated in his class, he had been waiting for an accident to happen, which was just another reason why he had been watching her so carefully.

"You had better not, because if you were, I would tell you to save yourself the effort," he warned, not fully convinced. He knew that she didn't whole-heartedly agree with his decision to keep their relationship strictly professional and limit their interactions to an absolute minimum. "I'd make sure you'd be serving your detentions with Filch."

"Honestly, it wasn't my intention," she assured him. "It would have been utterly stupid to purposely drop an explosive ingredient into my cauldron in the hope that you'd notice and step in just in time to prevent me from hurting myself! I still wonder how you noticed at all!"

"I've made it a habit to double-check certain students whenever beetle eyes are required in a potion, Miss Granger. You are regrettably not the first who failed to read the label, but even Mister Longbottom only made that mistake twice." The singed eyebrows he had sported after the second time had taken a couple of days to regrow and had served as a powerful reminder – far better than the lecture Severus had given him after the first prevented mishap. "I hadn't really expected such a beginner's mistake from a seventh year, and surely not from you." Had he not been watching her more intently than probably justified, he wouldn't have noticed. He could feel a slight tremor going through him, thinking what could have happened. Singed eyebrows were one thing, but a jet of flame could easily have set her voluminous hair on fire and done considerable damage before he'd even stood a chance to stifle the flames.

"I have no idea how it happened," she said in rueful voice. "Thank you – for not letting me learn the hard way."

Her obvious distress at her blunder soothed him a little. "This thoughtlessness is not you, Miss Granger," he said more calmly. "Do you find my classes not challenging enough? Or is there perhaps another reason for you to let your mind wander at most inappropriate moments?"

Hermione lowered her head again so as not to let him see her warming cheeks. It wasn't just inappropriate moments, but also inappropriate thoughts, but she certainly wouldn't admit to that. "No, there isn't," she lied. "I was just feeling a bit off today."

"It's not just today," he remarked. "You're hardly raising your hand anymore. Your essays, which were always written in minuscule handwriting to squeeze in even more than the extra inches of parchment you – much to my chagrin – insisted on adding, are now just long enough to fulfil my requirements. And even the potions you produce do not always come up to your usual standard. Do these changes perhaps have anything to do with – our epiphany a few weeks ago?"

For a moment, she felt flooded with relief. It hadn't been a hallucination. And if he labelled it an epiphany, it surely held significance for him. The term was fitting – it had been an epiphany. True, on the surface, one might say that it had merely been a long talk and a kiss. In reality, it had been one of these moments in time, a standing at a crossroads, that had changed everything. At least, it had changed everything for her. But not the things he was referring to. Those issues had been there long before.

"No, Sir," she said, making sure to use his proper address to condition her mind. "I assure you that it has nothing to do with you, nor with your teaching. I'm just feeling a little... I don't know. I think I have yet to rediscover my drive. The war has changed my perspective about a few things. Some things that were important to me before seem a bit pointless now."

He understood exactly what she was talking about. She was not the only one struggling to find meaning in her life again after a defining factor had been taken out of it.

"There is nothing pointless about learning. I never thought I'd have to tell you that."

"I know, Sir. I promise I'll try to do better."

"See that you do, Miss Granger. I mean it." He let his stern gaze linger on her a moment longer to make sure she got the point. Then he beckoned to the door. "You may leave now." When she rose, he softly added in afterthought: "Don't expect me to treat you differently. I won't be lenient next time."

"I know, Sir. I wouldn't expect you to."

* * *

Hermione really tried. He was right: Letting her attention wander was disrespectful and unadvisable in his class for various reasons, but she just couldn't help it.

She had been in a state of constant vigilance for an entire year, expecting danger around every corner, and it still haunted her. She jumped at unexpected sounds, and it was even worse now that she wasn't carrying her wand ready at hand anymore. She still was afraid of the dark, afraid of being alone, afraid that something might attack her any moment. This constant wariness was exhausting. She could never fully relax – except in Potions.

Severus Snape was a powerful wizard, quick and ruthless, if need be, and she knew that nothing bad would happen to her under his watchful eyes, nothing would harm her in his classroom. His lectures were certainly worth listening to, but they didn't offer enough new information to keep her mind from drifting. Hermione already knew most of it, as she had tried to keep up with their subject matter as much as she could, even while searching for Horcruxes. Truth to tell, most lessons were boring. But she had promised him.

Calling herself to attention for the third time within the first half hour of her Wednesday's potion class, she tried to concentrate on his voice, which wasn't exactly helpful.

That rich baritone of his, the deep, silky drawl and his distinctive way of accentuating his words... Somehow, his voice reached right inside her head, making her feel very peculiar – as if her brain was being softly caressed on the inside. It made her slightly dizzy, but in a good way. He could read a telephone registry to her and she would close her eyes in bliss and let his voice soothe the raw edges of her nerves like balm. Was it her fault if she found herself unable to follow what he was saying, when it felt so incredibly good to have the carefully modulated cadence of his velvety voice wash over?

Especially now, when she was so very tired. She had hardly slept again last night, and already knew that she wouldn't be getting much more sleep in the night to come. It had become impossible to continue sharing a room with Ginny, who was equally haunted by nightmares. But Hermione found it almost harder to sleep alone in the room Headmistress McGonagall had given her after both girls had kept tearing each other from sleep. Hermione hadn't slept alone since she had been a small child, and she found the silence of her room nerve-wracking. In the silence, everything seemed louder, even the sound of her own breathing. After a while, she had even started imagining sounds that weren't even there. While Ginny had often torn her from sleep, being alone prevented her from falling asleep in the first place.

Right now, however, she'd be able to fall asleep quite easily... Supporting her heavy head on her hands, Hermione pretended to study her textbook and closed her eyes briefly, almost sighing in relief when the burning behind her lids immediately lessened. 'Just for a minute,' she thought, listening to the quiet background noises in the relative quiet of the classroom. It was almost like being in the library, which was still her favourite place. But here, it was even better, because he was there, allowing her to feel safe. The soothing sound of his voice as he lectured. Shuffling of paper. Feather scratching softly on parchment. Pages being turned. Someone whispering something unintelligibly to his bench neighbour. If she listened closely, she could even hear people breathing. Such peaceful noises, lulling her in a pleasant daze...

"Miss Granger!"

Her heart jumped into her throat at hearing a loud bark that cut the air like a whip. Her head jerked up from the table. She was suddenly wide awake, grasping her wand and her purse. Where was her purse? Blindly, panicky, she looked around, trying to get her bearings. What had happened?

Potions classroom. She was still in her classroom. And she had fallen asleep. Her racing heart calmed only slightly at this realisation. She was safe. But then – maybe not. A fleeting look into her professor's dark and stormy eyes made all her thoughts of safety fly away. He was furious. Of course he was. First her daydreaming and not paying attention, then the near-accident. And now she had fallen asleep during his lecture! He probably wouldn't ever forgive her that. Oh Merlin!

"Gather your things and leave!" he ordered in a low, hissing voice.

"Professor, please... I..."

"Miss Granger, I'm sure you're aware that I won't stand for that kind of insolence in my classroom. You will see me for detention the next three Wednesdays, starting today. Whatever your justification is, you can present it to me tonight in my office, at seven, sharp. At the moment, I don't want to hear your apologies – I want you out of my classroom now!"

Hermione swallowed. "Yes, Sir." Feeling humiliated and ashamed beyond measure, she quickly gathered her things and fled from his sight.

###### Footnote

Even better than Snape reading the phone directory is Alan Rickman's voice on Bach (see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WixG49FZyg ) or Alan reading Shakespeare's sonnets ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xP06F0yynic ) 

It'll put you to sleep better and safer than any pill, if put on endless-loop. Guaranteed! :)


	3. The Ballroom Incident

Summary of Chapter Two – The Soothing Quality of Potions

Hermione is inattentive in Potion class and nearly injures herself. Severus talks to her after class and admonishes her to be more careful. Though Hermione is making an effort, she falls asleep in his next lesson, which makes Severus so angry that he assigns her three detentions and throws her out.

_A/N: I think I only mentioned it in the announcement for this sequel so far: My wonderful, far-away friend Dreamthrower is beta-reading this story again (like with all my others). Doing this with her is such a delight that I feel the urge to write a story just to read her comments and her explanations on (sometimes silly) grammar. Figuring out the differences between German and English and finding the right translation for some expression with her is a lot of fun and helps me learn a lot. Thank you so much, Dreamthrower, for your invaluable help! You rock!_

* * *

**The Ball Room Incident**

About half an hour after Hermione had left the classroom, Severus' anger slowly dissipated and turned into a nagging feeling of concern. Of course she hadn't fallen asleep in his class on purpose. He could only imagine how exhausted she must have been to drift away in the middle of his lecture. Something was not right with her, and he could no longer pretend that it didn't concern him. He wanted – needed – to know what was wrong with the girl.

He had first seen the subtle changes in her appearance the evening she had come to see him in his office. Before, he hadn't paid much attention to her, but now that he did, he couldn't help but notice that the changes went much deeper than he had thought.

She seemed more frail, more delicate and had lost every trace of childishness. Her body was that of a young woman, but she was far too thin, and her eyes belonged to a much older soul. Even her unruly hair had lost some of its wildness and lustre. Severus had always thought with an internal smirk that her own hair seemed to defy her, as if it was resisting her obsessive need to keep everything neat and in order. No matter what hairstyle she came up with to tame it, in no time, strands came loose to fly in all directions, rebelling against her efforts to put it under control.

Now, this vibrance was gone, even her hair seemed subdued and lacklustre. The softer look suited her, but it added to the overall impression of delicacy and frailty. He wondered if such a drastic change in the make-up of a person's hair could be ascribed to hormonal changes, to stress or malnutrition, or if the change could possibly be caused by a change in her magic. The latter gave added reason for concern.

While his first reaction to her repeated disruption of classroom discipline had been to make true on his threat and send her to Filch, he now realised that sending her away wasn't a solution for any of their issues. He couldn't avoid her forever.

So when Hermione knocked on his office door punctually that evening, he was determined to get to the heart of the matter and see that she got help.

"Professor Snape..."

"Miss Granger."

"Please – will you allow me to apologise now?" she began right on entering. "I'm really, really sorry, I... "

"Apologies are superfluous," he interrupted right away, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk and wordlessly beckoning her to sit down. "I realise that you didn't fall asleep in the middle of my class just to upset me."

Hermione closed her mouth and gave him a surprised look. Apparently, he was no longer angry with her. He almost sounded – understanding?

"However, I cannot leave it at that," he added, after she had taken a seat and looked at him with relief. "I talked to your other teachers, and while they also noticed that you are less eager to participate, which, under different circumstances, I might find commendable, you don't seem to have any problems staying focussed in their classes. Are my lectures boring you?"

She blushed. "Of course not! You are a good teacher..."

"That wasn't my question," he said calmly. "I am not doubting the general quality of my lessons, Miss Granger. But knowing you, it wouldn't surprise me if at least the theory of the potions we're discussing was not entirely new to you. I expect an honest answer."

"Well, yes," she admitted. "I tried to keep up with the syllabus as much as possible while we were away from Hogwarts." She might even have put a little bit of extra effort into potions in particular.

It had been her way of expressing her continued respect for him, even as so many had shunned him, believing him a traitor - as if her unspoken loyalty could make his isolation somehow less real.

"I see. So it is as I thought. Potions class is boring you."

"But that's not really the reason that I fell asleep," she protested, afraid he might make good on his threat and ban her from his class. That couldn't happen.

"Then what is?"

"It's just that... your classroom nowadays is the only place I really feel safe." He arched his eyebrows at her in what she had come to interpret as surprise or even bewilderment.

"It's stupid. I know that, intellectually," she rushed to explain. "You told me that I need to relax, and I know you're right about that, too, but I don't know how to do it. I still feel like I can never entirely let my guard down. I don't like being in crowds, but I don't like to be by myself either. I always feel tense, except when I'm in Potions."

He frowned and kept looking at her with a blank expression. "And why is that?"

Hermione lowered her gaze and her voice. "Because of you," she said softly. "Nobody can easily get past you. You have always kept an eye on us, watched our backs, kept us safe all these years. You risked your life for us, and you would have sacrificed your life for Harry, probably for each and every one of your students. And you still make me feel safe, like nothing can harm us when you're there. Of course, all our other teachers would protect us, too, but... I can't explain, really. I only know that I feel safe in the dungeons, in your classroom. So whenever I'm there, some of my tension drains away, and I can relax a bit, and then my mind starts drifting. I try to listen, really, I do – but your voice isn't helping things... and last night, I didn't sleep well and I was tired..."

Severus felt like he'd been hit on the head. She always managed to do that – completely throw him with something unexpected she said. Like that she basically trusted him with her life and that she felt safe in his presence. He was used to evoking the opposite feelings and found that easier to understand. Her declaration stirred something deep within him, a craving, an almost painful yearning... something dark and dangerous, but exhilarating and intoxicating at the same time. His own feelings were confusing and unsettling, but analysing them would have to wait for later.

For now, he focussed on the other stunning part of her revelation: the fact that the apparent ease he had seen her display in his class was not her normal state of mind, but the exception. It wasn't an explanation he had even considered after the incident with his Slytherin.

Again, he felt a strange tugging inside of him. To think that she found his presence soothing, that it put her at ease when she was generally as tense and nervous as she obviously was... It was flattering, heart-warming and evoked unfamiliar feelings that he couldn't immediately identify. That, in itself, was a reason for concern.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes in mild frustration. "I guess we can add this to the growing list of complications," he said, more to himself than to her. Would there ever be a time when his life wouldn't seem such a mess? "I don't know what to do about this, Miss Granger," he finally admitted. "But I can't have you falling asleep in my classroom. I suggest you take a sleeping potion for now and see that you get some rest." It was hardly a long-term solution, as sleeping potions were addictive in the long run. But it would buy them time. Buy him time to sort things out and hopefully come up with an idea about how to help her.

"Um..."

"What?"

"Well, the thing is... Madam Pomfrey has forbidden me from taking any more Dreamless Sleep Potion..."

"You've made use of it before?"

"Pretty much every night during the first months of the school year. Ginny and I kept waking each other up with our nightmares."

"So you're having troubles with nightmares, too..." Of course she did. Again, it was hardly surprising.

"Who doesn't?" she asked. "I'm certainly not the only one."

He sighed again. "Miss Granger... this can't continue. I'm really at a loss here. I think you need counselling."

She snorted. "Yes, I guess I do. But what do you suggest? Go to a muggle psychiatrist, as wizards don't have any? Tell him that ever since I hunted and destroyed dark objects containing soul fragments of an evil wizard, I'm scared of being attacked by a giant snake or mask-wearing Death Eaters? That I have reoccurring nightmares in which I hear the cackling laughter of a mad woman who's engraving the letters 'mudblood' into my arm with a cursed knife? Or that I'm almost fainting dead on the spot, hearing a werewolf whisper into my ear what he will do with me once she is finished? Tell him that I'm sleeping with a wand in my hand in case there are Snatchers sneaking around? I'm sure he'd have a field day! I might never leave the closed ward again."

His stomach felt like lead hearing her describe the monsters under her bed that were keeping her up at night. Monsters that were all too real. Monsters she should never have encountered. But she had, and he wished he could kill them all with his bare hands once again... Voldemort, Greyback and mostly Bellatrix. He wished he knew how to make her world feel like a safe place again.

"I was suggesting you talk to a wizard or witch. The headmistress has not set up counselling hours for nothing."

"And who should I go to? Professor Trelawney, who's officially the head of my house?"

"I was thinking of Professor Lupin, who's unofficially head of your house and an Order member. You always got on well with him. As much as it pains me to say it, he is patient, understanding and trustworthy."

"Remus has enough problems of his own. He's still trying to deal with the death of Tonks and the loss of two of his limbs. He only agreed to second as head of house because Professor Trelawney's nomination shocked most Gryffindors into demanding a re-sorting. To tell the truth, I don't even think he's fit enough to teach Defence right now."

True enough. Lupin wasn't Moody. He had yet to get used to walking with a prosthesis. Not to mention the lack of one arm. But doubtlessly, the loss of his wife had crippled him even more than the giants he had run into.

"I can't talk to anyone about what happened during the last year," Hermione whispered. "Nobody knows. Nobody understands. Nobody but you."

"What about your friends?" he asked, feeling just as much out of his depth at he had in the hospital wing on seeing her so distraught, not knowing how to help. He had never offered comfort to anybody in his entire life. And yet she seemed to have expectations in him that he was sure to disappoint. Where were her friends when she needed them?

"Every one of us is burdened with their own problems. Ron is extremely volatile and easily upset about little things. But it's no use talking to him about it, because he's pretending that everything is alright, and I'm waiting for the moment he'll suddenly realise it's not and have a complete mental breakdown.

Ginny is having nightmares about the last school year and breaks into tears every time someone mentions her brother. Laughing too loud, telling jokes or mentioning wizard pranks has the same effect.

The only sane one seems to be Harry. That's probably because for him, the last year has not been that much worse than all his previous years. I suppose you get used to being in mortal peril after a while, and he's faced Voldemort in one form or another pretty much every school year since he started Hogwarts. Or maybe because he's too busy sorting out his other issue – if we want to call it an issue. But realising that he loves Ginny, but just not like that, was a little bit of a shock to him. Things are awkward between him and Ron because of it, and, of course between him and Ginny, too. I'm glad that he doesn't have to deal with war trauma on top of it, so I'm not going to start bringing it back. You are the only person I can talk to." Harry and Ron didn't even know the full extent of the things that were bothering her. And she wouldn't tell them.

"I'm hardly the person to offer counselling or advice, considering the choices I've made", he said, sounding more brusque than he meant to be. Which just proved his point. He was really bad at this.

"I don't need advice," she replied softly. "Just someone to talk to." She hesitated a brief moment and raised an uncertain gaze. "I understand that there can be nothing between us right now... But can't you just be – my friend?"

"Your friend?" he echoed, not sure if her notion should amaze him, please him, annoy him or bemuse him. "Like Potter or Weasley? Someone you can boss around, call in line, tease or give hugs to?"

"I wouldn't mind giving hugs to you," the impossible girl said. "But I understand if that has to wait. You can be just me my non-huggable friend then – one I don't have to remind to do his homework or change his socks after three days. It'd be a nice change... "

"I don't know how to be a friend," he told her honestly, testing the word on his tongue like an exotic fruit he'd never tasted before. He hadn't really, not since his youth. And look how that had ended. "If such a friendship was theoretically possible – which I doubt – the rest of the world wouldn't perceive it as such. People would always assume that something more was going on." Which, in his opinion, proved that this theory was right. Why would people automatically assume such a thing, otherwise?

"This is all so unfair," Hermione lamented. "Yet another thing Voldemort has taken from me."

"What?" he asked, not quite following her apparently random train of thought.

"You. The chance to really get to know you, to see you whenever I want. I'm of age! I shouldn't even be here, technically your student again! Without him, I would have graduated last year, like all your Slytherins, and we'd be free to do whatever we wished, no matter what people said. It's just another thing he's to blame for. I hate him!"

Severus was startled at her outburst. He had never looked at it that way. But she was right. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, she would have left Hogwarts half a year ago. But then, if Voldemort hadn't existed, they would never have found themselves in the situation they were in now. This complicated, perturbing, confusing mess. No. Severus still hated the Dark Lord for many things, but for this, he could not.

"You and I know that things are not always fair and certainly not always how we want them. It can't be helped. We'll have to deal with the cards we were dealt, even though it's difficult, as this situation doubtlessly is. How am I, of all people, supposed to help you? I'm certainly more damaged than you are!"

"Then how come you still are so strong?" Hermione asked back. "How do you sleep at night? You must be tortured by memories, too..."

By all rights, he should be. Sometimes he thought he deserved to be. But... "No. I haven't suffered from nightmares since I left my teenage years behind me." He'd probably have turned mad if all he had experienced had come back to haunt him in his sleep.

"You don't have bad dreams at all?" she asked, surprised. "How's that possible?"

It was hard to put into words. "My guess is that my subconscious recognises a nightmare right when it starts and either wakes me up or tricks it into becoming something harmless."

"Really?" She was intrigued. "How do you do that?"

He shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I think it has to do with my ability to occlude. At least, I started having control over my dreams when I mastered Occlumency. I don't know how I'd have stayed sane otherwise."

"But I thought Occlumency was a skill permitting you to keep others from reading your mind..."

Severus scowled. "I've told Potter again and again that this explanation is rudimentary and simplistic at best. Occlumency is a highly complex art, the mastering of mental and emotional control. It's a means to deeply know and organise the workings of your mind."

Her eyes lit up with barely concealed interest. His own eyes went to the ceiling in exasperation. Of course. He had just uttered the magical words 'organise', 'control' and 'mind' in front of Hermione Granger. It was the equivalent of waving a juicy bone in front of a starving dog. Correction. An eager puppy, looking at him now with impossibly large, brown eyes and a hopeful expression. At least she wasn't drooling.

"Can you teach me?" she begged.

He sighed. He probably could. There was no doubt that teaching her would prove much more successful than teaching Potter had been. For one thing, there was no hatred and distrust between them, which basically made every mind to mind contact a doomed endeavour right from the start. She also was willing and studious, and organising and compartmentalising her mind should come easily to her – after all, she did it in every other aspect of her life. Her colour-coded study schedules were legendary, even among staff. No, wasting time was not what he was concerned about.

"I could," he answered reluctantly. "However, I'm not sure if I should."

"Why ever not?"

"Because delving into your mind is quite the opposite of keeping my distance, Miss Granger."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"But surely you could... lend me a book?" she asked timidly.

"As surprising as this might come for you, some things cannot be learned from a book."

Her gaze was doubtful. Clearly, she didn't believe that.

"Not everything comes with easy and simple to follow instructions like potions recipes," he affirmed. "There is no incantation for Occlumency, no explanation of how to do it."

"How did you learn, then?"

"By having my mind attacked again and again, until one day, I managed to block it."

"Please – I need to do something." She was giving him the puppy eyes again. "If this could help with my nightmares, I'd finally get some sleep at night and feel less on edge during the daytime. I might even start feeling normal again."

He knew that what he was considering was morally highly questionable, probably unethical, but he pushed that thought aside. He couldn't let her continue suffering just to avoid tempting his self-control. If Occlumency was indeed the thing that could help her, it was for the greater good. And as he had learned from Dumbledore over the years, the 'greater good' was all that mattered. His intentions were honourable. He needed to put this young Gryffindor back together.

"Very well, Miss Granger," he said, forcefully reminding himself that no matter his motives for wanting to help her, she was still his student, and he had to treat her as such. "I will see you for detention next Wednesday after dinner, anyway. That'll give you ample time to read through all the books on the matter you are not yet able to recitate. Provided there are any..."

She grinned, but he could still see the relief in her features. "Thank you, Sir."

* * *

If the fact that she had fallen asleep in the middle of his class had not sufficiently convinced him that she needed help, an incident in the 'Defence against the Dark Arts' class he took over for Lupin a week after their discussion definitely did.

Minerva had arranged for Aurors in training to take over the werewolf's classes once a month, when he was incapacitated due to his condition. But this time, his indisposition was not related to the moon phase. Lupin had suffered worse damage during the final battle than most of the staff and the students were aware of – the loss of his one leg and arm was just a minor problem compared to the rest. He had almost been crushed by a giant, and his liver was irrevocably damaged. The potions he was taking only served to stabilise the organ and to prolong his life. If he was lucky, he had another five years, but even that was not guaranteed. In any case, he wouldn't be able to teach full-time for much longer.

Minerva was thinking about offering an apprentice position for Defence, which would also take some of the load off Lupin. Until she had found somebody suitable, they somehow had to make do, which meant that he had to take over the seventh year class today.

Being an advocate of a practical rather than theoretical approach, he surprised the waiting seventh graders with the announcement that they were going to have a duelling session and that they were to pack their things and follow him into the Ballroom. The classroom gave them little room for the kind of exercise he had in mind.

Most of the students were thrilled at the idea, but there were a few faces that showed concern, among them that of a special Gryffindor. He was fully aware of the fact that duelling was a touchy subject for students who had, a couple of months ago, fought for their lives. But in the long run, it wouldn't do to pamper them like Lupin did, who – as Severus suspected – had a bit of a problem with duelling himself. A wizard needed to be capable of defending himself, and a suffered trauma wouldn't go away if they simply did not raise their wands against a person ever again. In his opinion, you had to face your fears to overcome them. He just had to make sure to take it slowly.

On their way to the Ballroom he pondered the daring idea of taking a leaf out of Lupin's book and actually letting them try something humorous first... see who came up with the most ridiculous and funniest hexes, like the legendary Bat-Bogey hex Miss Weasley so frequently used. Or maybe he could demonstrate an offensive transfiguration hex and turn Longbottom's hair into a vulture hat...

Severus never got to the intended highlight of his lesson, however. Not in the beginning, because his lesson was again disrupted by a certain Gryffindor before it had even started, and not later, because he wasn't in the mood for doing anything remotely funny anymore.

* * *

Hermione's face, which had lit up on seeing who was replacing Remus, fell as soon as she learned what her favourite professor had planned for today's lesson. She had never liked duelling much, and she had never been particularly good at it. But ever since the war, she didn't like using her wand for anything combative at all. Having a wand pointed at herself was frightening enough, but after the incident with Malcolm she was also worried that she might involuntarily inflict serious damage on her opponent. Comforting herself with the thought that Professor Snape surely knew what he was doing and would ensure that no one came to harm, she reluctantly followed her fellow students to the Ballroom.

The last time she had seen it had been in fourth year, when Professor McGonagall had used it for dancing practice. She'd rather be using the room for dancing lessons again right now. She wouldn't even mind being singled out to demonstrate the steps with her teacher, as Ron had been with Professor McGonagall. She felt herself smiling at the memory of the shocked face he had made. At the time, she had revelled in it with a certain amount of glee, which was probably excusable if one considered what a git he'd been to her that year.

Hermione was the last to enter the large room. It was a shame that it was used so rarely. It had huge windows on either side, which gave it an airy feel that you couldn't find anywhere else inside the castle. Beautiful crystal chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, catching the rays of the afternoon sun that fell through the glass panes.

Despite the friendly atmosphere, she felt her anxiety building the moment she set her foot in the room. It started with a feeling of icy cold in her stomach that quickly seeped into the rest of her body, and rapidly led to sweaty palms and a trembling of her limbs. As soon as she realised that she was about to have another panic attack, all the symptoms increased by a hundredfold: Her heart started beating like crazy and her chest tightened painfully, restricting her breathing. Her legs were too numb to obey her brain's frantic command to just run and take her out of here, so she just stood there, stiff as a board, unable to do anything but clutch her wand and her purse tightly, while feeling her vision narrow.

Draco, who happened to be right next to her in the back of the room, was the first to notice, and immediately drew the right conclusion. Before anyone else could react, he took her arm and dragged her out of the room.

"Potter, Longbottom – see to the class!" Hermione heard her professor's crisp command, before he came rushing after Draco and her.

Draco ushered her onto a bench beneath a window, giving her a look that was almost as panicky as hers.

"Bag," Hermione wheezed, clutching her purse to her hurting chest and struggling to breathe. "Calming Draught – in my bag."

"I'll get it." Professor Snape tried to take the purse from her, but her fingers remained clamped around its strings. "You have to let go," he said, but she didn't react. He had no means to know if she had even heard him, as she was unable to respond. Her eyes were staring at him in helpless panic, her breath was coming in rapid, shallow gasps, and her entire body was shaking.

"Miss Granger!" he then commanded in his most authoritative teacher's voice. "Give me that bag now!" Lifelong habit and her disposition to respond to authority finally drew a reaction from her. She let go of the purse, and he opened it in search for the bottle of calming draught that was supposed to be in there. What he found was not a bottle, but an entire potion kit – among other things.

He finally found the right vial, pulled the stopper and assisted her in downing the contents. The calming draught did the trick. Hermione slowly felt her chest pain and the constrictions subside, her breath even out and her unreasonable fear melt away. She glanced at the empty vial in her hand and felt silly. Once again, he had to witness her completely losing it for no apparent reason.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she said, when her voice returned.

"I do," Draco surprisingly said, throwing an unsure glance at his godfather, who beckoned him to continue. "It was the chandelier... it looks very much like the crystal chandelier in our drawing room."

The room where she had been tortured by Bellatrix, lying helplessly on the floor and staring up at it. The chandelier that had come crashing down on them a little bit later on. Her breath quickened again.

"Easy, there, Miss Granger," her Professor soothed, and his voice immediately calmed her. "Just continue breathing deeply and slowly. You're safe now. I don't want you to think about it. Tell me about that bag of yours."

"My purse?" she asked, distracted by his question, just as he had intended. "What about it?"

"Undetectable Extension Charm? I suppose not Ministry approved? That's highly advanced magic..."

"It was a necessity," she simply said.

"I see." He looked at her with an inscrutable gaze, then turned to his oldest Slytherin. "Draco, accompany Miss Granger to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey what happened. She should run a full diagnostic, so we can be sure that there is no physical cause for her symptoms. You'll return immediately after Poppy has taken charge, understood? And Miss Granger – unless Madam Pomfrey decides to keep you right there, this episode is no excuse to miss out your detention tonight – at seven, sharp."

* * *

As expected, Madam Pomfrey didn't find anything wrong with her, so Hermione was free to go and reassure her friends, who had already inquired about her. They were relieved to hear that everything was alright again, and – in silent agreement – quickly turned the conversation to less perturbing matters.

Draco, however, acted strangely around her when she saw him at dinner. The returned seventh years had their own table at the end of the Slytherins' table row. It had been a practical solution to make room for the added pupils. While it might have been possible to squeeze in the additional Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at their respective house tables, it would have been next to impossible to do so with the Gryffindors.

Most of the pupils who had formed the resistance group led by Neville had come from Gryffindor, and given that they had spent a large part of the year in hiding, they had missed most of the curriculum. Ravenclaws, who were smart enough to keep a low profile, the majority of Hufflepuffs, who tended to keep themselves out of trouble, and nearly all of Slytherin, who had fared reasonably well with Death Eaters in charge, had been able to finish their education. The latter house also had never counted muggleborn students, who hadn't been allowed to attend Hogwarts last year. Therefore, there were no returnees from Slytherin, except for one: Draco Malfoy.

Hermione knew he had come back for a reason similar to her own: He had no home to go to anymore. His parents had gone into exile, and Draco was on his own, struggling to find his way in a world that had been turned upside down. He had as little idea what to do with his life as she had. Hogwarts, at least, was familiar and offered stability.

Their former enmity had morphed into a tentative companionship that might even leave room for development of something more. However, this evening, he was acting weird. He wasn't able to look her in the eye, and if Hermione wasn't mistaken, he was ashamed. She had a good idea what had brought this about, but she had no wish to discuss it. It would only bring her own memories back, and she wasn't ready to face them yet. On the other hand, she didn't want to bear responsibility for him feeling bad, either.

"Just so you know..." she finally told him firmly, just before she got up from her chair, and unconsciously pulled her sleeve down. "It wasn't your fault, and I don't blame you for what happened. So you shouldn't keep blaming yourself, either."

Relieved to have a good excuse for leaving the table early, she claimed to have to get ready for her detention and hastened out of the hall.

* * *

At seven o' clock, Hermione knocked on her Potions professor's office door and was immediately asked in.

"Since you are here, I take it that Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis spell didn't find anything that gave reason for concern?" Professor Snape inquired, beckoning her to take a seat.

"No, Sir, I'm quite healthy, physically speaking."

"And do I assume correctly then that you have experienced panic attacks like the one you had today before?"

"A few times," she admitted. "But they weren't as bad. And calming draught always helped."

He gestured at the purse she had sat beside her. "Is that the reason you're carrying it with you all the time?" he asked.

"Yes..." she replied, a bit hesitantly. It was definitely part of the reason. Though it probably didn't explain why she carried around an entire potions kit. He had obviously noticed that, too.

"I see," he said, leaning back in his chair and giving her that penetrating look that seemed to aim at reaching her soul. "What else are you carrying around in that bag, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, uhm... my books and... writing utensils... and other useful things..." she offered, hoping he wouldn't question her further.

He didn't. With a lazy flick of his wand he directed a revealing spell at the purple string bag that brought the content to light. Things came flying out one by one, the most recently used first. School books, parchment, quills, diverse sanitary items, a hairbrush, a coat, a knitted cap, gloves, rapidly followed by change clothes, her potions kit, a first aid box, sewing utensils, bedsheets, a fair amount of food tins... and it didn't stop there. Soon there was a pile in the corner of his office, growing higher and higher, while his eyes seemed to grow larger. Finally, the flow of objects stopped, and the bag gave an audible sigh, as if cured of persistent congestion.

Severus looked at the pile in disbelief. "A tent, Miss Granger?"

"I'd completely forgotten that the tent was still in there," she replied, abashed.

"And the food? The pots and pans, the tea kettle, the camping cooker, the picnic basket and the cutlery?"

"That, too."

"Miss Granger – just what is this? Were you planning on taking a camping trip anytime soon?"

"No. I wasn't planning on anything."

"Just planning for everything, right?" She didn't answer. "Am I right to assume that these things kept you alive last year while you were on the run?"

She nodded.

"And I guess I don't have to tell you that there is no need to organise for disaster and rapid escape anymore, do I?"

She lowered her head. "I know. It just makes me feel – safer to have those things around."

"Do you understand that carrying around so much stuff takes a toll on you? Despite the fact that you placed a weightless charm on the bag – all those things still have a physical weight, and in one form or another, you have to expend energy to move them. Carried around in a magical weightless bag, they feed on your magic. You might not realise it like you would if you had to drag everything behind you physically, but it's exhausting you all the same."

She gave him a look of surprise. "I didn't know that..."

"But surely you must have noticed that your magical energy is less stable, even weaker now? I could even detect it in the potions you produce. And in your hair."

"My hair?"

"Unless you've done something else to it that makes it so lacklustre and – tame – all of a sudden?"

"I rather like my hair as it is now," Hermione said a bit stiffly. "It's much more manageable."

"And you're sure that this perceived hair wonder is worth an over-expenditure of your magical energies?"

She shook her head.

"I don't think so, either. We have to find a way to make you feel secure without being constantly on alert for an emergency evacuation. What makes you feel safe, Miss Granger?"

That was easily answered. "You do," she said in a soft voice. "I feel safe when I'm around you."

Yes, after their latest discussion he had almost expected this answer. Dumbledore was gone, Lupin incapacitated and not able to protect anybody right now, and Flitwick, though a competent wizard, was hardly an intimidating enough manly presence to make a traumatised young woman feel safe. There was Minerva, of course, a force to be reckoned with, but – well, wizard society was rather sexist. So he probably was the next logical choice.

"Do you usually wear a necklace?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Yes, why?"

"Show me."

She reached into her blouse and pulled out a chain with a small portrait medallion hanging from it. "It shows pictures of my parents." She made a move as if to open it, but he stopped her. "I don't need to see it." He reached for the pendant without taking the chain off her neck, cradled it in his palm and touched it with his wand. He then muttered a series of spells she hadn't heard before, and the medallion glowed briefly. "There," he muttered, letting it go and rest against her chest again. She could still feel the warmth emanating from it through the material of her blouse.

"I made it into a password protected, unregistered portkey. All you have to do is touch it and say 'safe place' and it will take you here."

"Into your office?"

"Yes."

She couldn't find words for a moment. With everything she knew about the man, she understood what an incredible gift he had just made her. He was granting her sanctuary behind his wards. He was giving her his trust. It was probably the most valuable thing he had to give.

Hermione knew instinctively that he wouldn't want her to highlight the fact or make a huge deal of it. Even her gratitude would probably be unwelcome. So she didn't say anything on the matter. "I thought portkeys don't work within Hogwarts..." she pondered the technicalities instead.

"Basically they don't. Only the headmaster has the power to make portkeys that work around these restrictions. Funnily enough, I still have this power, probably because Hogwarts itself got confused about still having a living ex-headmaster around and is treating me as if I were still in command." He had noticed many little things that were peculiar. He could still access Minerva's office without even uttering the password. Staircases still turned into the right direction to ease his way, and he still had access to all the secret shortcuts that facilitated moving around in Hogwarts. He wondered if he could still change the ceiling in the Great Hall, but hadn't tried it yet. No reason to call attention to these nifty gifts.

"And you wouldn't mind if I actually used this in the middle of a panic attack and just materialised in your office? Because chances are that I might..."

"If I minded, I wouldn't have given it to you. My office is heavily warded. You'll be safe in here, even if I don't happen to be around. In which case you'll have time enough to conjure your patronus and call for help. You can conjure a patronus, right?"

"Yes. It's an otter."

"So it's corporeal? Very good, Miss Granger. You aren't helpless. Remember that. Now, do you think the port-key will make you feel safer?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Fine then." He waved his wand at the cluttered pile of her survival equipment, levitating only the books, the writing-utensils and a few sanitary items back into her purple string bag. "I'll see to it that all the clothes are returned to your room. As to the rest of the stuff..." He sent a 'Reducio' at the remaining items, shrinking them to the size of doll house equipment. "I'll store them for you."

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, transfigured it into a box and levitated everything inside. Then he opened a drawer and hid the box away.

"Now... with that out of the way, let's move on to the purpose of this visit, shall we?"

###### Footnote

Actually, the part about not having nightmares is not fantasy. I'm much like Severus in that regard (without the traumata and the Occlumency skills, though). I stopped having nightmares when I was still a kid – like he said, I either realise that I'm dreaming while still asleep and the dream loses its power, or my dream automatically transforms into something harmless. I believe the technique I subconsciously used when still a child gets instinctive after a while: On waking up, think of your dream as if you woke in the middle of a horror movie without yet having seen the happy end, which surely would have come, and let it play out in your head while falling asleep again. After a while, your brain learns how to do that without waking you in the first place.


	4. Occlumency the First

Summary of Chapter Two – The Soothing Quality of Potions

Hermione is inattentive in Potion class and nearly injures herself. Severus talks to her after class and admonishes her to be more careful. Though Hermione is making an effort, she falls asleep in his next lesson, which makes Severus so angry that he assigns her three detentions and throws her out.

_A/N: I'm so sorry for failing to tell you that I stopped posting new chapters on this site! I had thought that anyone who was wondering about it would see it in my replies to the reviews, but now I'm not even sure if you can see them. So here it is: I won't update this story here any longer for various reasons - one of them being that posting is a little complicated, the second is that the attention was comparably low. The story IS finished, however! You can find it on fanfiction.net under the same title and auther's name. (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12495057/1/Getting-the-Best-of-the-Gloomilows) There are only two epilogues missing (December 1st, 2017), which you will be getting before Christmas. I'm even working on a companion piece right now, so if you like the characters as I portrayed them, you'll be seeing a lot more of them! Thank your for reading and reviewing! I really hope to see you again on fanfiction.net._

* * *

**The Ball Room Incident**

About half an hour after Hermione had left the classroom, Severus' anger slowly dissipated and turned into a nagging feeling of concern. Of course she hadn't fallen asleep in his class on purpose. He could only imagine how exhausted she must have been to drift away in the middle of his lecture. Something was not right with her, and he could no longer pretend that it didn't concern him. He wanted – needed – to know what was wrong with the girl.

He had first seen the subtle changes in her appearance the evening she had come to see him in his office. Before, he hadn't paid much attention to her, but now that he did, he couldn't help but notice that the changes went much deeper than he had thought.

She seemed more frail, more delicate and had lost every trace of childishness. Her body was that of a young woman, but she was far too thin, and her eyes belonged to a much older soul. Even her unruly hair had lost some of its wildness and lustre. Severus had always thought with an internal smirk that her own hair seemed to defy her, as if it was resisting her obsessive need to keep everything neat and in order. No matter what hairstyle she came up with to tame it, in no time, strands came loose to fly in all directions, rebelling against her efforts to put it under control.

Now, this vibrance was gone, even her hair seemed subdued and lacklustre. The softer look suited her, but it added to the overall impression of delicacy and frailty. He wondered if such a drastic change in the make-up of a person's hair could be ascribed to hormonal changes, to stress or malnutrition, or if the change could possibly be caused by a change in her magic. The latter gave added reason for concern.

While his first reaction to her repeated disruption of classroom discipline had been to make true on his threat and send her to Filch, he now realised that sending her away wasn't a solution for any of their issues. He couldn't avoid her forever.

So when Hermione knocked on his office door punctually that evening, he was determined to get to the heart of the matter and see that she got help.

"Professor Snape..."

"Miss Granger."

"Please – will you allow me to apologise now?" she began right on entering. "I'm really, really sorry, I... "

"Apologies are superfluous," he interrupted right away, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk and wordlessly beckoning her to sit down. "I realise that you didn't fall asleep in the middle of my class just to upset me."

Hermione closed her mouth and gave him a surprised look. Apparently, he was no longer angry with her. He almost sounded – understanding?

"However, I cannot leave it at that," he added, after she had taken a seat and looked at him with relief. "I talked to your other teachers, and while they also noticed that you are less eager to participate, which, under different circumstances, I might find commendable, you don't seem to have any problems staying focussed in their classes. Are my lectures boring you?"

She blushed. "Of course not! You are a good teacher..."

"That wasn't my question," he said calmly. "I am not doubting the general quality of my lessons, Miss Granger. But knowing you, it wouldn't surprise me if at least the theory of the potions we're discussing was not entirely new to you. I expect an honest answer."

"Well, yes," she admitted. "I tried to keep up with the syllabus as much as possible while we were away from Hogwarts." She might even have put a little bit of extra effort into potions in particular.

It had been her way of expressing her continued respect for him, even as so many had shunned him, believing him a traitor - as if her unspoken loyalty could make his isolation somehow less real.

"I see. So it is as I thought. Potions class is boring you."

"But that's not really the reason that I fell asleep," she protested, afraid he might make good on his threat and ban her from his class. That couldn't happen.

"Then what is?"

"It's just that... your classroom nowadays is the only place I really feel safe." He arched his eyebrows at her in what she had come to interpret as surprise or even bewilderment.

"It's stupid. I know that, intellectually," she rushed to explain. "You told me that I need to relax, and I know you're right about that, too, but I don't know how to do it. I still feel like I can never entirely let my guard down. I don't like being in crowds, but I don't like to be by myself either. I always feel tense, except when I'm in Potions."

He frowned and kept looking at her with a blank expression. "And why is that?"

Hermione lowered her gaze and her voice. "Because of you," she said softly. "Nobody can easily get past you. You have always kept an eye on us, watched our backs, kept us safe all these years. You risked your life for us, and you would have sacrificed your life for Harry, probably for each and every one of your students. And you still make me feel safe, like nothing can harm us when you're there. Of course, all our other teachers would protect us, too, but... I can't explain, really. I only know that I feel safe in the dungeons, in your classroom. So whenever I'm there, some of my tension drains away, and I can relax a bit, and then my mind starts drifting. I try to listen, really, I do – but your voice isn't helping things... and last night, I didn't sleep well and I was tired..."

Severus felt like he'd been hit on the head. She always managed to do that – completely throw him with something unexpected she said. Like that she basically trusted him with her life and that she felt safe in his presence. He was used to evoking the opposite feelings and found that easier to understand. Her declaration stirred something deep within him, a craving, an almost painful yearning... something dark and dangerous, but exhilarating and intoxicating at the same time. His own feelings were confusing and unsettling, but analysing them would have to wait for later.

For now, he focussed on the other stunning part of her revelation: the fact that the apparent ease he had seen her display in his class was not her normal state of mind, but the exception. It wasn't an explanation he had even considered after the incident with his Slytherin.

Again, he felt a strange tugging inside of him. To think that she found his presence soothing, that it put her at ease when she was generally as tense and nervous as she obviously was... It was flattering, heart-warming and evoked unfamiliar feelings that he couldn't immediately identify. That, in itself, was a reason for concern.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes in mild frustration. "I guess we can add this to the growing list of complications," he said, more to himself than to her. Would there ever be a time when his life wouldn't seem such a mess? "I don't know what to do about this, Miss Granger," he finally admitted. "But I can't have you falling asleep in my classroom. I suggest you take a sleeping potion for now and see that you get some rest." It was hardly a long-term solution, as sleeping potions were addictive in the long run. But it would buy them time. Buy him time to sort things out and hopefully come up with an idea about how to help her.

"Um..."

"What?"

"Well, the thing is... Madam Pomfrey has forbidden me from taking any more Dreamless Sleep Potion..."

"You've made use of it before?"

"Pretty much every night during the first months of the school year. Ginny and I kept waking each other up with our nightmares."

"So you're having troubles with nightmares, too..." Of course she did. Again, it was hardly surprising.

"Who doesn't?" she asked. "I'm certainly not the only one."

He sighed again. "Miss Granger... this can't continue. I'm really at a loss here. I think you need counselling."

She snorted. "Yes, I guess I do. But what do you suggest? Go to a muggle psychiatrist, as wizards don't have any? Tell him that ever since I hunted and destroyed dark objects containing soul fragments of an evil wizard, I'm scared of being attacked by a giant snake or mask-wearing Death Eaters? That I have reoccurring nightmares in which I hear the cackling laughter of a mad woman who's engraving the letters 'mudblood' into my arm with a cursed knife? Or that I'm almost fainting dead on the spot, hearing a werewolf whisper into my ear what he will do with me once she is finished? Tell him that I'm sleeping with a wand in my hand in case there are Snatchers sneaking around? I'm sure he'd have a field day! I might never leave the closed ward again."

His stomach felt like lead hearing her describe the monsters under her bed that were keeping her up at night. Monsters that were all too real. Monsters she should never have encountered. But she had, and he wished he could kill them all with his bare hands once again... Voldemort, Greyback and mostly Bellatrix. He wished he knew how to make her world feel like a safe place again.

"I was suggesting you talk to a wizard or witch. The headmistress has not set up counselling hours for nothing."

"And who should I go to? Professor Trelawney, who's officially the head of my house?"

"I was thinking of Professor Lupin, who's unofficially head of your house and an Order member. You always got on well with him. As much as it pains me to say it, he is patient, understanding and trustworthy."

"Remus has enough problems of his own. He's still trying to deal with the death of Tonks and the loss of two of his limbs. He only agreed to second as head of house because Professor Trelawney's nomination shocked most Gryffindors into demanding a re-sorting. To tell the truth, I don't even think he's fit enough to teach Defence right now."

True enough. Lupin wasn't Moody. He had yet to get used to walking with a prosthesis. Not to mention the lack of one arm. But doubtlessly, the loss of his wife had crippled him even more than the giants he had run into.

"I can't talk to anyone about what happened during the last year," Hermione whispered. "Nobody knows. Nobody understands. Nobody but you."

"What about your friends?" he asked, feeling just as much out of his depth at he had in the hospital wing on seeing her so distraught, not knowing how to help. He had never offered comfort to anybody in his entire life. And yet she seemed to have expectations in him that he was sure to disappoint. Where were her friends when she needed them?

"Every one of us is burdened with their own problems. Ron is extremely volatile and easily upset about little things. But it's no use talking to him about it, because he's pretending that everything is alright, and I'm waiting for the moment he'll suddenly realise it's not and have a complete mental breakdown.

Ginny is having nightmares about the last school year and breaks into tears every time someone mentions her brother. Laughing too loud, telling jokes or mentioning wizard pranks has the same effect.

The only sane one seems to be Harry. That's probably because for him, the last year has not been that much worse than all his previous years. I suppose you get used to being in mortal peril after a while, and he's faced Voldemort in one form or another pretty much every school year since he started Hogwarts. Or maybe because he's too busy sorting out his other issue – if we want to call it an issue. But realising that he loves Ginny, but just not like that, was a little bit of a shock to him. Things are awkward between him and Ron because of it, and, of course between him and Ginny, too. I'm glad that he doesn't have to deal with war trauma on top of it, so I'm not going to start bringing it back. You are the only person I can talk to." Harry and Ron didn't even know the full extent of the things that were bothering her. And she wouldn't tell them.

"I'm hardly the person to offer counselling or advice, considering the choices I've made", he said, sounding more brusque than he meant to be. Which just proved his point. He was really bad at this.

"I don't need advice," she replied softly. "Just someone to talk to." She hesitated a brief moment and raised an uncertain gaze. "I understand that there can be nothing between us right now... But can't you just be – my friend?"

"Your friend?" he echoed, not sure if her notion should amaze him, please him, annoy him or bemuse him. "Like Potter or Weasley? Someone you can boss around, call in line, tease or give hugs to?"

"I wouldn't mind giving hugs to you," the impossible girl said. "But I understand if that has to wait. You can be just me my non-huggable friend then – one I don't have to remind to do his homework or change his socks after three days. It'd be a nice change... "

"I don't know how to be a friend," he told her honestly, testing the word on his tongue like an exotic fruit he'd never tasted before. He hadn't really, not since his youth. And look how that had ended. "If such a friendship was theoretically possible – which I doubt – the rest of the world wouldn't perceive it as such. People would always assume that something more was going on." Which, in his opinion, proved that this theory was right. Why would people automatically assume such a thing, otherwise?

"This is all so unfair," Hermione lamented. "Yet another thing Voldemort has taken from me."

"What?" he asked, not quite following her apparently random train of thought.

"You. The chance to really get to know you, to see you whenever I want. I'm of age! I shouldn't even be here, technically your student again! Without him, I would have graduated last year, like all your Slytherins, and we'd be free to do whatever we wished, no matter what people said. It's just another thing he's to blame for. I hate him!"

Severus was startled at her outburst. He had never looked at it that way. But she was right. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, she would have left Hogwarts half a year ago. But then, if Voldemort hadn't existed, they would never have found themselves in the situation they were in now. This complicated, perturbing, confusing mess. No. Severus still hated the Dark Lord for many things, but for this, he could not.

"You and I know that things are not always fair and certainly not always how we want them. It can't be helped. We'll have to deal with the cards we were dealt, even though it's difficult, as this situation doubtlessly is. How am I, of all people, supposed to help you? I'm certainly more damaged than you are!"

"Then how come you still are so strong?" Hermione asked back. "How do you sleep at night? You must be tortured by memories, too..."

By all rights, he should be. Sometimes he thought he deserved to be. But... "No. I haven't suffered from nightmares since I left my teenage years behind me." He'd probably have turned mad if all he had experienced had come back to haunt him in his sleep.

"You don't have bad dreams at all?" she asked, surprised. "How's that possible?"

It was hard to put into words. "My guess is that my subconscious recognises a nightmare right when it starts and either wakes me up or tricks it into becoming something harmless."

"Really?" She was intrigued. "How do you do that?"

He shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I think it has to do with my ability to occlude. At least, I started having control over my dreams when I mastered Occlumency. I don't know how I'd have stayed sane otherwise."

"But I thought Occlumency was a skill permitting you to keep others from reading your mind..."

Severus scowled. "I've told Potter again and again that this explanation is rudimentary and simplistic at best. Occlumency is a highly complex art, the mastering of mental and emotional control. It's a means to deeply know and organise the workings of your mind."

Her eyes lit up with barely concealed interest. His own eyes went to the ceiling in exasperation. Of course. He had just uttered the magical words 'organise', 'control' and 'mind' in front of Hermione Granger. It was the equivalent of waving a juicy bone in front of a starving dog. Correction. An eager puppy, looking at him now with impossibly large, brown eyes and a hopeful expression. At least she wasn't drooling.

"Can you teach me?" she begged.

He sighed. He probably could. There was no doubt that teaching her would prove much more successful than teaching Potter had been. For one thing, there was no hatred and distrust between them, which basically made every mind to mind contact a doomed endeavour right from the start. She also was willing and studious, and organising and compartmentalising her mind should come easily to her – after all, she did it in every other aspect of her life. Her colour-coded study schedules were legendary, even among staff. No, wasting time was not what he was concerned about.

"I could," he answered reluctantly. "However, I'm not sure if I should."

"Why ever not?"

"Because delving into your mind is quite the opposite of keeping my distance, Miss Granger."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"But surely you could... lend me a book?" she asked timidly.

"As surprising as this might come for you, some things cannot be learned from a book."

Her gaze was doubtful. Clearly, she didn't believe that.

"Not everything comes with easy and simple to follow instructions like potions recipes," he affirmed. "There is no incantation for Occlumency, no explanation of how to do it."

"How did you learn, then?"

"By having my mind attacked again and again, until one day, I managed to block it."

"Please – I need to do something." She was giving him the puppy eyes again. "If this could help with my nightmares, I'd finally get some sleep at night and feel less on edge during the daytime. I might even start feeling normal again."

He knew that what he was considering was morally highly questionable, probably unethical, but he pushed that thought aside. He couldn't let her continue suffering just to avoid tempting his self-control. If Occlumency was indeed the thing that could help her, it was for the greater good. And as he had learned from Dumbledore over the years, the 'greater good' was all that mattered. His intentions were honourable. He needed to put this young Gryffindor back together.

"Very well, Miss Granger," he said, forcefully reminding himself that no matter his motives for wanting to help her, she was still his student, and he had to treat her as such. "I will see you for detention next Wednesday after dinner, anyway. That'll give you ample time to read through all the books on the matter you are not yet able to recitate. Provided there are any..."

She grinned, but he could still see the relief in her features. "Thank you, Sir."

*'*'*'*'*'*

If the fact that she had fallen asleep in the middle of his class had not sufficiently convinced him that she needed help, an incident in the 'Defence against the Dark Arts' class he took over for Lupin a week after their discussion definitely did.

Minerva had arranged for Aurors in training to take over the werewolf's classes once a month, when he was incapacitated due to his condition. But this time, his indisposition was not related to the moon phase. Lupin had suffered worse damage during the final battle than most of the staff and the students were aware of – the loss of his one leg and arm was just a minor problem compared to the rest. He had almost been crushed by a giant, and his liver was irrevocably damaged. The potions he was taking only served to stabilise the organ and to prolong his life. If he was lucky, he had another five years, but even that was not guaranteed. In any case, he wouldn't be able to teach full-time for much longer.

Minerva was thinking about offering an apprentice position for Defence, which would also take some of the load off Lupin. Until she had found somebody suitable, they somehow had to make do, which meant that he had to take over the seventh year class today.

Being an advocate of a practical rather than theoretical approach, he surprised the waiting seventh graders with the announcement that they were going to have a duelling session and that they were to pack their things and follow him into the Ballroom. The classroom gave them little room for the kind of exercise he had in mind.

Most of the students were thrilled at the idea, but there were a few faces that showed concern, among them that of a special Gryffindor. He was fully aware of the fact that duelling was a touchy subject for students who had, a couple of months ago, fought for their lives. But in the long run, it wouldn't do to pamper them like Lupin did, who – as Severus suspected – had a bit of a problem with duelling himself. A wizard needed to be capable of defending himself, and a suffered trauma wouldn't go away if they simply did not raise their wands against a person ever again. In his opinion, you had to face your fears to overcome them. He just had to make sure to take it slowly.

On their way to the Ballroom he pondered the daring idea of taking a leaf out of Lupin's book and actually letting them try something humorous first... see who came up with the most ridiculous and funniest hexes, like the legendary Bat-Bogey hex Miss Weasley so frequently used. Or maybe he could demonstrate an offensive transfiguration hex and turn Longbottom's hair into a vulture hat...

Severus never got to the intended highlight of his lesson, however. Not in the beginning, because his lesson was again disrupted by a certain Gryffindor before it had even started, and not later, because he wasn't in the mood for doing anything remotely funny anymore.

*'*'*'*'*'*

Hermione's face, which had lit up on seeing who was replacing Remus, fell as soon as she learned what her favourite professor had planned for today's lesson. She had never liked duelling much, and she had never been particularly good at it. But ever since the war, she didn't like using her wand for anything combative at all. Having a wand pointed at herself was frightening enough, but after the incident with Malcolm she was also worried that she might involuntarily inflict serious damage on her opponent. Comforting herself with the thought that Professor Snape surely knew what he was doing and would ensure that no one came to harm, she reluctantly followed her fellow students to the Ballroom.

The last time she had seen it had been in fourth year, when Professor McGonagall had used it for dancing practice. She'd rather be using the room for dancing lessons again right now. She wouldn't even mind being singled out to demonstrate the steps with her teacher, as Ron had been with Professor McGonagall. She felt herself smiling at the memory of the shocked face he had made. At the time, she had revelled in it with a certain amount of glee, which was probably excusable if one considered what a git he'd been to her that year.

Hermione was the last to enter the large room. It was a shame that it was used so rarely. It had huge windows on either side, which gave it an airy feel that you couldn't find anywhere else inside the castle. Beautiful crystal chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, catching the rays of the afternoon sun that fell through the glass panes.

Despite the friendly atmosphere, she felt her anxiety building the moment she set her foot in the room. It started with a feeling of icy cold in her stomach that quickly seeped into the rest of her body, and rapidly led to sweaty palms and a trembling of her limbs. As soon as she realised that she was about to have another panic attack, all the symptoms increased by a hundredfold: Her heart started beating like crazy and her chest tightened painfully, restricting her breathing. Her legs were too numb to obey her brain's frantic command to just run and take her out of here, so she just stood there, stiff as a board, unable to do anything but clutch her wand and her purse tightly, while feeling her vision narrow.

Draco, who happened to be right next to her in the back of the room, was the first to notice, and immediately drew the right conclusion. Before anyone else could react, he took her arm and dragged her out of the room.

"Potter, Longbottom – see to the class!" Hermione heard her professor's crisp command, before he came rushing after Draco and her.

Draco ushered her onto a bench beneath a window, giving her a look that was almost as panicky as hers.

"Bag," Hermione wheezed, clutching her purse to her hurting chest and struggling to breathe. "Calming Draught – in my bag."

"I'll get it." Professor Snape tried to take the purse from her, but her fingers remained clamped around its strings. "You have to let go," he said, but she didn't react. He had no means to know if she had even heard him, as she was unable to respond. Her eyes were staring at him in helpless panic, her breath was coming in rapid, shallow gasps, and her entire body was shaking.

"Miss Granger!" he then commanded in his most authoritative teacher's voice. "Give me that bag now!" Lifelong habit and her disposition to respond to authority finally drew a reaction from her. She let go of the purse, and he opened it in search for the bottle of calming draught that was supposed to be in there. What he found was not a bottle, but an entire potion kit – among other things.

He finally found the right vial, pulled the stopper and assisted her in downing the contents. The calming draught did the trick. Hermione slowly felt her chest pain and the constrictions subside, her breath even out and her unreasonable fear melt away. She glanced at the empty vial in her hand and felt silly. Once again, he had to witness her completely losing it for no apparent reason.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she said, when her voice returned.

"I do," Draco surprisingly said, throwing an unsure glance at his godfather, who beckoned him to continue. "It was the chandelier... it looks very much like the crystal chandelier in our drawing room."

The room where she had been tortured by Bellatrix, lying helplessly on the floor and staring up at it. The chandelier that had come crashing down on them a little bit later on. Her breath quickened again.

"Easy, there, Miss Granger," her Professor soothed, and his voice immediately calmed her. "Just continue breathing deeply and slowly. You're safe now. I don't want you to think about it. Tell me about that bag of yours."

"My purse?" she asked, distracted by his question, just as he had intended. "What about it?"

"Undetectable Extension Charm? I suppose not Ministry approved? That's highly advanced magic..."

"It was a necessity," she simply said.

"I see." He looked at her with an inscrutable gaze, then turned to his oldest Slytherin. "Draco, accompany Miss Granger to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey what happened. She should run a full diagnostic, so we can be sure that there is no physical cause for her symptoms. You'll return immediately after Poppy has taken charge, understood? And Miss Granger – unless Madam Pomfrey decides to keep you right there, this episode is no excuse to miss out your detention tonight – at seven, sharp."

*'*'*'*'*'*

As expected, Madam Pomfrey didn't find anything wrong with her, so Hermione was free to go and reassure her friends, who had already inquired about her. They were relieved to hear that everything was alright again, and – in silent agreement – quickly turned the conversation to less perturbing matters.

Draco, however, acted strangely around her when she saw him at dinner. The returned seventh years had their own table at the end of the Slytherins' table row. It had been a practical solution to make room for the added pupils. While it might have been possible to squeeze in the additional Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at their respective house tables, it would have been next to impossible to do so with the Gryffindors.

Most of the pupils who had formed the resistance group led by Neville had come from Gryffindor, and given that they had spent a large part of the year in hiding, they had missed most of the curriculum. Ravenclaws, who were smart enough to keep a low profile, the majority of Hufflepuffs, who tended to keep themselves out of trouble, and nearly all of Slytherin, who had fared reasonably well with Death Eaters in charge, had been able to finish their education. The latter house also had never counted muggleborn students, who hadn't been allowed to attend Hogwarts last year. Therefore, there were no returnees from Slytherin, except for one: Draco Malfoy.

Hermione knew he had come back for a reason similar to her own: He had no home to go to anymore. His parents had gone into exile, and Draco was on his own, struggling to find his way in a world that had been turned upside down. He had as little idea what to do with his life as she had. Hogwarts, at least, was familiar and offered stability.

Their former enmity had morphed into a tentative companionship that might even leave room for development of something more. However, this evening, he was acting weird. He wasn't able to look her in the eye, and if Hermione wasn't mistaken, he was ashamed. She had a good idea what had brought this about, but she had no wish to discuss it. It would only bring her own memories back, and she wasn't ready to face them yet. On the other hand, she didn't want to bear responsibility for him feeling bad, either.

"Just so you know..." she finally told him firmly, just before she got up from her chair, and unconsciously pulled her sleeve down. "It wasn't your fault, and I don't blame you for what happened. So you shouldn't keep blaming yourself, either."

Relieved to have a good excuse for leaving the table early, she claimed to have to get ready for her detention and hastened out of the hall.

*'*'*'*'*'*

At seven o' clock, Hermione knocked on her Potions professor's office door and was immediately asked in.

"Since you are here, I take it that Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis spell didn't find anything that gave reason for concern?" Professor Snape inquired, beckoning her to take a seat.

"No, Sir, I'm quite healthy, physically speaking."

"And do I assume correctly then that you have experienced panic attacks like the one you had today before?"

"A few times," she admitted. "But they weren't as bad. And calming draught always helped."

He gestured at the purse she had sat beside her. "Is that the reason you're carrying it with you all the time?" he asked.

"Yes..." she replied, a bit hesitantly. It was definitely part of the reason. Though it probably didn't explain why she carried around an entire potions kit. He had obviously noticed that, too.

"I see," he said, leaning back in his chair and giving her that penetrating look that seemed to aim at reaching her soul. "What else are you carrying around in that bag, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, uhm... my books and... writing utensils... and other useful things..." she offered, hoping he wouldn't question her further.

He didn't. With a lazy flick of his wand he directed a revealing spell at the purple string bag that brought the content to light. Things came flying out one by one, the most recently used first. School books, parchment, quills, diverse sanitary items, a hairbrush, a coat, a knitted cap, gloves, rapidly followed by change clothes, her potions kit, a first aid box, sewing utensils, bedsheets, a fair amount of food tins... and it didn't stop there. Soon there was a pile in the corner of his office, growing higher and higher, while his eyes seemed to grow larger. Finally, the flow of objects stopped, and the bag gave an audible sigh, as if cured of persistent congestion.

Severus looked at the pile in disbelief. "A tent, Miss Granger?"

"I'd completely forgotten that the tent was still in there," she replied, abashed.

"And the food? The pots and pans, the tea kettle, the camping cooker, the picnic basket and the cutlery?"

"That, too."

"Miss Granger – just what is this? Were you planning on taking a camping trip anytime soon?"

"No. I wasn't planning on anything."

"Just planning for everything, right?" She didn't answer. "Am I right to assume that these things kept you alive last year while you were on the run?"

She nodded.

"And I guess I don't have to tell you that there is no need to organise for disaster and rapid escape anymore, do I?"

She lowered her head. "I know. It just makes me feel – safer to have those things around."

"Do you understand that carrying around so much stuff takes a toll on you? Despite the fact that you placed a weightless charm on the bag – all those things still have a physical weight, and in one form or another, you have to expend energy to move them. Carried around in a magical weightless bag, they feed on your magic. You might not realise it like you would if you had to drag everything behind you physically, but it's exhausting you all the same."

She gave him a look of surprise. "I didn't know that..."

"But surely you must have noticed that your magical energy is less stable, even weaker now? I could even detect it in the potions you produce. And in your hair."

"My hair?"

"Unless you've done something else to it that makes it so lacklustre and – tame – all of a sudden?"

"I rather like my hair as it is now," Hermione said a bit stiffly. "It's much more manageable."

"And you're sure that this perceived hair wonder is worth an over-expenditure of your magical energies?"

She shook her head.

"I don't think so, either. We have to find a way to make you feel secure without being constantly on alert for an emergency evacuation. What makes you feel safe, Miss Granger?"

That was easily answered. "You do," she said in a soft voice. "I feel safe when I'm around you."

Yes, after their latest discussion he had almost expected this answer. Dumbledore was gone, Lupin incapacitated and not able to protect anybody right now, and Flitwick, though a competent wizard, was hardly an intimidating enough manly presence to make a traumatised young woman feel safe. There was Minerva, of course, a force to be reckoned with, but – well, wizard society was rather sexist. So he probably was the next logical choice.

"Do you usually wear a necklace?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Yes, why?"

"Show me."

She reached into her blouse and pulled out a chain with a small portrait medallion hanging from it. "It shows pictures of my parents." She made a move as if to open it, but he stopped her. "I don't need to see it." He reached for the pendant without taking the chain off her neck, cradled it in his palm and touched it with his wand. He then muttered a series of spells she hadn't heard before, and the medallion glowed briefly. "There," he muttered, letting it go and rest against her chest again. She could still feel the warmth emanating from it through the material of her blouse.

"I made it into a password protected, unregistered portkey. All you have to do is touch it and say 'safe place' and it will take you here."

"Into your office?"

"Yes."

She couldn't find words for a moment. With everything she knew about the man, she understood what an incredible gift he had just made her. He was granting her sanctuary behind his wards. He was giving her his trust. It was probably the most valuable thing he had to give.

Hermione knew instinctively that he wouldn't want her to highlight the fact or make a huge deal of it. Even her gratitude would probably be unwelcome. So she didn't say anything on the matter. "I thought portkeys don't work within Hogwarts..." she pondered the technicalities instead.

"Basically they don't. Only the headmaster has the power to make portkeys that work around these restrictions. Funnily enough, I still have this power, probably because Hogwarts itself got confused about still having a living ex-headmaster around and is treating me as if I were still in command." He had noticed many little things that were peculiar. He could still access Minerva's office without even uttering the password. Staircases still turned into the right direction to ease his way, and he still had access to all the secret shortcuts that facilitated moving around in Hogwarts. He wondered if he could still change the ceiling in the Great Hall, but hadn't tried it yet. No reason to call attention to these nifty gifts.

"And you wouldn't mind if I actually used this in the middle of a panic attack and just materialised in your office? Because chances are that I might..."

"If I minded, I wouldn't have given it to you. My office is heavily warded. You'll be safe in here, even if I don't happen to be around. In which case you'll have time enough to conjure your patronus and call for help. You can conjure a patronus, right?"

"Yes. It's an otter."

"So it's corporeal? Very good, Miss Granger. You aren't helpless. Remember that. Now, do you think the port-key will make you feel safer?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Fine then." He waved his wand at the cluttered pile of her survival equipment, levitating only the books, the writing-utensils and a few sanitary items back into her purple string bag. "I'll see to it that all the clothes are returned to your room. As to the rest of the stuff..." He sent a 'Reducio' at the remaining items, shrinking them to the size of doll house equipment. "I'll store them for you."

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, transfigured it into a box and levitated everything inside. Then he opened a drawer and hid the box away.

"Now... with that out of the way, let's move on to the purpose of this visit, shall we?"


	5. Detention

Summary of Chapter Four - Occlumency the First

On his first attempt to legilimise Hermione, Severus finds that Hermione has taught herself how to shield her mind. Though he is impressed with her achievement, he explains that shielding is not what will help her with her nightmares. He will have to delve into her mind in order to teach her how to occlude her thoughts instead. When Hermione is reluctant, he promises her that he won't pry into memories or thoughts they both consider private. On his second attempt, he conquers her shields easily enough and witnesses multiple memories involving her friends, which tell him that Hermione is emotionally and physically exhausted. He lets her sleep on a couch in his office for a couple of hours while he is working in the lab. He also decides that he'll have to talk to Minerva regarding Hermione's sleeping problems.

* * *

**Detention**

Severus had spoken to Minerva right the next day, making a proposal that she had found quite baffling, probably mostly because it was coming from him. She had been much more surprised at his involvement than the girl whom he had called to his office later, to ask her if she was willing to become Miss Granger's roommate for the remainder of the year. As a matter of fact, she hadn't been surprised at all. She had merely looked at him with her slightly protruding, misty eyes and had said a few things that he had found surprising and quite baffling, too.

Apart from that encounter, his week had been reasonably quiet. He hadn't spoken to Hermione – Miss Granger! – outside class, although he had seen her in the library a couple of times. She had always nodded politely and turned her attention back to her books. Once or twice, she had thrown him a curious glance, as if she was wondering why he was talking to the librarian so frequently, just as he had been wondering why she could be found sitting with Draco all the time.

He had directed a few, subtle glances in her direction as well, something which had become a habit by now. She had still looked tired, but with her level of exhaustion, it would take a while before she got her reserves back, provided she was sleeping a little bit better now. In class, she had really made an effort to stay focused, so he hadn't been forced to reprimand her any more.

Still, he thought it wise to take it slowly with her extra-curricular lessons. He knew from experience that it was draining to have one's mind attacked, even more so if one was trying to defend it by raising shields. If he was being entirely honest, he wasn't really keen on delving into her mind again; he still found the intimacy unsettling. But he intended to keep his word and teach her – he just wanted to make sure that her magical and physical reserves were stronger before he did.

He needed more time with her, but giving her more detentions was not an option. When pondering how to resolve this issue, an idea had formed in his mind, but he still wasn't sure if it was a wise one. Would she even agree to the proposal, if he could bring himself to actually make it? He could just about imagine Minerva's face when he approached her about her precious Gryffindor a second time – especially with that particular suggestion...

Punctually as ever, he heard the expected knock at his office door. "Do come in, Miss Granger," he called, only briefly looking up from the essay he was correcting.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," she greeted, and he had a hard time appearing unaffected when she smiled at him as openly and disarmingly as she had the night she had slept on his couch. She approached his desk, about to sit down in the chair opposite from him, but he stopped her right away: "No need to get comfortable – you'll be cleaning cauldrons tonight. The first years tried their hand at a sticking paste today. Nasty potion. It always takes hours to get the remains out of the cauldrons."

Her face fell. She stared at him with disbelieving eyes, unsure if he was joking.

He waved his wand at the brick wall that separated his office from the potions lab, and it promptly turned into a large, open archway that connected the rooms. When he was alone in his office, he preferred the more open space, as the dungeon with its low vaulted ceiling was oppressive enough, and the open archway allowed him to oversee detentions easily from his desk. Only when his class was brewing particularly smelly or volatile potions or if privacy was needed in his office did he close the wall.

"This is really going to be a detention?" Hermione asked, staring at the pile of cauldrons on the nearest working table in consternation.

"Of course. You didn't expect me to favour you, did you?"

"Well, no," she answered unconvincingly. "I just thought we'd continue with the Occlumency lessons tonight."

Seeing her disappointment, he didn't have the heart to continue acting like the strict and mean professor he was – well, at least with everybody else. "I'd rather have you get some rest before we try that again," he offered as explanation. "Defending against attacks on your mind is quite exhausting."

"And scrubbing cauldrons isn't?" she asked with a frown.

He returned her gaze with ill-concealed amusement. "Yes, but it's physical labour. It's supposed to tire your body rather than drain your magical reserves. I find it helps with insomnia quite nicely. Once your body is too exhausted to stay upright, your mind will follow the lead."

She sighed. "So I guess I'm not allowed to use magic?"

"No, Miss Granger, you'll do it the Muggle way. Use the cleaning powder on the top shelf."

Resignedly, Hermione shrugged out of her school robe and threw it over a chair. With its long, flowing sleeves, it was completely unsuitable for the task she'd been given. She grabbed the first cauldron and hauled it over to the sink. "And here I thought he had quit being nasty and vindictive," she muttered to herself while reaching for the brush and the soap.

"I heard that!" he called, head bent over his essays again. When she threw a quick glance over her shoulder, she thought she saw a hint of humour lurking in the corner of his mouth. "You'd better be careful, Miss Granger. I'm pretty sure Mr. Filch wouldn't be so generous as to give you the good cleaning products when he makes you clean the lavatories..."

"You are aware that threats lose credibility when overused, aren't you?" she retorted. "I know you can still be mean, but not that mean."

This time, he just gave her one of his trademark pointed glares that conveyed meaning quite well without words. Okay, so that particular weapon was still pretty effective. "I'll be good, now, I promise," she quickly backpedaled, not putting it past him to make good on his offer, amused or not.

His eyebrow quirked, but he didn't comment further. For a while, they both silently concentrated on their tasks. While his mind was occupied with the corrections he had to focus on, hers was free to wander, and that was dangerous. Sooner or later, her thoughts would either end up circling war-related issues or they'd inevitably circle him. And just now, with him present, that didn't seem advisable.

Instead, she thought back to the strange conversation she had had with Luna a few days ago, which brought a question to mind that had bothered her ever since.

"Are you, by any chance, behind the new sleeping arrangements the headmistress has made for me?"

Professor Snape looked up. His face, though no longer hidden by long hair, didn't reveal much of anything. "If she gave you Miss Lovegood as a roommate, then it might indeed be attributable to a suggestion I made. Why? Are those arrangements not to your liking?"

Hermione gave him another smile. "They are, very much indeed. Thank you! Luna is great. She's – I don't know how to describe it... serene, is the most fitting word, I guess. She's so calm about everything. I can't remember ever seeing her panicky or even remotely concerned, no matter what the circumstances. One would think that after being held hostage at Malfoy Manor, she'd be traumatised as well."

"It certainly wasn't the most agreeable place to be at the time, but at least nothing bad befell her there," he said, his face darkening. "Contrary to you, Miss Lovegood was treated reasonably well."

"Yes, I know. Draco brought her food, news and other things she urgently needed, like bottle corks and such."

He blinked, then shook his head. "No. I'm not even going to ask."

"I'm sure she needed them to cleanse Malfoy Manor of evil or something. At least it seems to have worked with Draco. He has changed a lot."

Although Luna's theories on the workings of the world were decidedly strange, Hermione was reluctant to dismiss them outright. In her experience, they too often hit the mark. Hermione had told no one about her visit to the dungeons and the fact that she had fulfilled her vow, but although Luna had no way of knowing, she had delightedly remarked that Hermione was no longer haunted by Netherfairies the very next day. Before Hermione had gotten over her surprise, Luna had added regretfully that Hermione now seemed to have caught the Bluedrags instead.

'It's not surprising, really – Hogwarts is infested with them,' she had declared sombrely. 'Unfortunately, there isn't much we can do about it, except paint everything pink, but the headmistress wasn't enthused about my suggestion. Let's hope that once the people are healed, they'll vanish from the walls, too. If only there weren't so many infected... the castle is practically glowing like a rainbow with so many of its inhabitants walking around with coloured auras. I'm pretty sure I'm having a slight case of Gloomilows myself, too, but nobody will tell me.'

'Glue-me-lows?' Hermione had echoed a bit stupidly.

Luna hadn't seemed to mind her ignorance. She had dutifully explained that the latter was just the more common name, as Bluedrags was slightly misleading. After all, not everyone's aura turned blue when infected. Hermione's, for instance, was a deep yellow, which had Luna concerned.

'Why?' Hermione had asked, feeling a bit unsettled herself. 'What does yellow mean?'

Luna had looked at her as if she had just asked a particularly interesting question. 'Oh, that I don't know,' she had answered. 'It's the true colour of your aura. Usually, everybody's aura appears white. A colouring indicates that you've caught the Bluedrags, which are making you sick. The good thing about them is that they also reveal your true colours. And you should really go and see Professor Snape more often. His aura is deep purple. He's been infected with Gloomilows for as long as I can remember.'

Slightly alarmed, Hermione had asked for the reason for this particular piece of advice. She had been wondering if Luna was just being exceptionally weird or exceptionally perceptive again. Luna herself had obviously thought that it was self-explanatory and had responded with an unspoken, but clearly discernibly 'duh' in her voice: 'Because exposing your Gloomilows to each other's astral radiation will kill them, of course.'

Hermione shook her head, remembering the funny conversation, and wiped her forehead. All this scrubbing was making her sweaty.

"What are you smiling about?" her professor's questioning voice interrupted her musings. He had noticed Hermione's flushed and happy face when she took the next cauldron off the pile. "Cauldron scrubbing is not supposed to be entertaining."

He briefly wondered if her blush and her smile had anything to do with the mentioning of his godson. He had seen them both in the library again today, amicably sitting next to each other, heads bent over some tomes and engrossed in a friendly discussion.

"I know," Hermione replied, smiling even more widely. "Trust me, it isn't. I was just thinking of an entertaining conversation I recently had."

He halted his quill, looking at her with a rather peculiar expression. "With Draco?"

"No, why? With Luna."

Oh. Well, he had just had a rather odd conversation with Miss Lovegood himself. Strange girl, that one. "Really?" he asked back, clearly interested now. "Did she tell you that you're giving off purple steam, too?"

Hermione looked at him, mouth agape. Surely Luna hadn't... Who was she kidding – it was Luna – she probably had. "No, mine's actually yellow," she answered solemnly, trying to keep a straight face. "And it's not steam, but radiation. I've been told it complements yours nicely."

He snorted and busied himself with arranging the corrected and uncorrected essays into neat piles, tidying up his desk. "I saw you and Draco in the library today," he then remarked casually. "It seems that your relationship has changed for the better..."

Hermione brightened again. "Yes, it certainly has. Draco's been really civil towards me, lately. It's hard to believe he's the same boy who kept calling me Mudblood with such disdain."

"Draco, too, had a role to play. He just didn't know himself how much of his demeanour was brought about by other people's expectations and how much was born out of his own convictions."

"Yes. Being raised by bigot parents and fed this nonsense of Pure-blood supremacy with his mother's milk probably makes it difficult to question those beliefs. The fact that Harry saved his life in the Room of Hidden Things – after Draco had attacked him with the intent of delivering him to Voldemort – gave him an epiphany."

"He had been questioning the Dark Lord's goals long before that. I could sense it, but I didn't know how to support him without endangering my position. I tried to gently nudge him, but he didn't recognise my efforts for what they were. His dear aunt Bellatrix was constantly whispering into his ear, and the responsibility for his parents' welfare lay on his shoulders. It was a heavy burden to carry for a rather fragile boy."

Not having been able to help Draco was one of his own most weighty burdens. He had failed him just like he had failed his other godson, having managed to save his life only at the cost of his soul. He should have done more.

"It's a good thing that you didn't lay your cards on the table back then," Hermione said, unaware that she seemed to be responding to his thoughts. "Draco admitted that himself. He told me that he was torn at the time and that it could have gone either way – with him coming over to our side or betraying you to Voldemort instead."

"He actually admitted that to you?" He looked surprised. "I hadn't realised that you had become quite such close friends..."

She shrugged. "It's not like Draco has a great many people to choose from right now. He's the only seventh year student from Slytherin who returned, and most of the other houses consider him a traitor. He's the boy who tried to kill Dumbledore, after all. I guess I became his confidant for lack of options."

"No," the head of his house objected, shaking his head. "Draco is a Slytherin to the core. It's not in him to bare himself in such a way to anyone – unless he's very trusting of the person. It's obvious that he holds you in very high esteem, Miss Granger."

"Or I'm just a good sounding board. Many people tell me of their problems nowadays."

That much was true. It had been obvious in the memories he had seen. "You have proved yourself to be extremely loyal and trustworthy. It's a characteristic Slytherins value above anything else."

"Really?" She lifted her head, giving him a sceptical look. "I thought it was subtlety and cunning that they valued most."

"Those are qualities Slytherins possess," he corrected. "But they value what is not so easily found in their house. We usually admire most in others what we find ourselves lacking in."

She pondered that for a moment. "Yes, I suppose that's true. Slytherins don't wear their hearts on their sleeves, but I always thought that actions speak louder than words, anyway. Gryffindors are always so – boisterous. They know no discretion, no patience. I like that Draco doesn't always have to comment on everything. I can tell him stuff without him immediately shouting out his outrage or his enthusiasm. He just listens, waits until I've sorted out my own feelings and gives his opinion only in a very minimalist manner. He's making me think instead of telling me what I should think."

Hermione realised that the same was also true for her Potions Professor. It proved the proverb right that opposites attracted. Gryffindors and Slytherins certainly were as contrary as it got. She heaved another cauldron on to the slowly growing pile of cleaned ones and took off her woollen cardigan, too. It was getting much too warm in it. For once, she welcomed the cool of the dungeon air on her skin.

"I find it amazing that you're even talking to each other amicably, considering your past differences," her professor remarked, while she attacked the next cauldron with her brush.

"I admit I thought for years that he was just a conceited prat and that there was nothing of substance behind his good looks and his family's fortune. I saw him as just as two-dimensional as he saw me – Harry's sidekick, a Mudblood, a nerd. He acted like it was expected of him when antagonising and insulting me. Granted, he didn't question his behaviour back then, but we were children... I can't hold his past actions against him, not when he's clearly making an effort to be different now. He even apologised to me."

Severus gave her an astonished look, then quickly turned his gaze back to his papers. Seeing her just in her blouse with the material clinging to the skin of her back seemed slightly indecent. Strange, that he would think so. He'd seen plenty of girls scrubbing cauldrons in their school blouses before – it wasn't the kind of work that could be done in the robes with their long and flowing sleeves. But none of them had ever led his mind on a path it shouldn't wander. Or made him feel warm just by watching their arduous, sweat-inducing efforts.

"So – you're friends with Draco now?" he asked, trying to lead his thoughts out of slippery terrain. Maybe not entirely successfully.

"I guess so..." Hermione paused, giving the question some thought. She probably could call him a friend. "He's a very complex person, intelligent and misjudged. I always found myself drawn to those people, and I strongly believe in second chances. I think that underneath his arrogance, Draco hides a very sensitive and vulnerable heart."

"Yes, as his godfather I can confirm that to be true." Once again, he was astonished at her insight. "And... are you sure that there are no tender feelings involved?" he inquired, making an effort to sound nonchalant. It was quite possible that Draco felt more for her than just friendship. And just as possible that she returned those feelings.

"On whose part?" She looked at him and frowned. Surely he didn't mean to suggest... or did he? "I told you about my feelings," she said, feeling anger rise at his insinuation. "And now you're asking if I feel attracted to Draco? If you didn't believe me, maybe you should check next time you're in my head!"

He immediately realised his blunder. "Miss Granger..."

"No – don't 'Miss Granger' me now!" She threw the sponge into the cauldron and wrung her hands. "Seriously, just think about what you're saying by even asking such a thing! You're either accusing me of lying to you, suggesting that I'm fickle, or belittling my emotions by implying that I don't know my own heart! And with all of that, you're basically saying that I'm shallow."

"Of course you're not! I never meant to..." He took a deep breath. "It wasn't intended to sound like it did."

"So how exactly did you intend to sound? Do you still find it so hard to believe that what I told you was true?"

"To be totally honest, yes," he said bluntly. "It's surreal. Sometimes, when I see you in Potions class, I still wonder if I haven't imagined the whole thing."

"Well, sometimes, when you're telling me off and calling me 'Miss Granger' in that scornful tone of voice, I wonder the same thing! You wanted us to pretend nothing happened. So of course it seems surreal!"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "You're right. And it was also me who told you to go live your life and kiss some boys, which I still think was the right thing to say and still would be the right thing to do. It's just – thinking about it now, I find that I don't like the idea very much."

At his admission, her angry scowl slowly morphed into a tender smile that made her eyes shine. The transformation was bedazzling. "Good," she said, and all of her anger had fled from her voice. "Because I don't like the idea either. And I will do no such thing. I like Draco and his company. But I don't like him like that. I don't like any boy like that." She sighed and fished the sponge out of the water. "I like you. And I miss you."

He struggled for words, but couldn't seem to find the right ones. "You see me every day," he said, pointing out the obvious instead.

"Yes, in class, or at meals, sitting at the staff table. But that's different."

He wasn't obtuse – he knew exactly what she was talking about. He just preferred not to talk about it, not even admit to himself that he wished he could treat her differently – that he could sit down and have a glass of Firewhiskey with her, listen to her chattering, get her point of view on things and wonder about the crazy conclusions she often came up with, become a confidant for her secrets, her concerns and her hopes and... no. It couldn't be like that. Funny, how he craved something he had only gotten a brief taste of.

"I'm trying my best to only see my professor in you," the girl said, echoing his thoughts. "But it's kind of a strain to pretend there's no big white elephant in the room with us."

She had that right as well. It was actually more a small herd of elephants, but it was better if she remained unaware of them. There was nothing that could be done about them within reasonable time anyway.

"I just wish there was some middle ground," she said wistfully.

He gave her a thoughtful look. "Maybe there is..." he mused, wondering if what he had in mind perhaps allowed for a little more confidentiality than their current teacher-student relationship. He got up and came over to the table next to the sink, inspecting the result of her labour. She had cleaned about two thirds of the cauldrons, but was making only slow progress now. Her arms were probably getting heavy, and her hands must be burning from the fairly aggressive soap.

"You may stop now, Miss Granger," he said, surprising her once more. "I wanted you tired, but not exhausted to the point of passing out in my lab again."

"Maybe I could finish the remaining cauldrons with magic?" she suggested. It was nice of him to remit part of her penalty, but she was reluctant to leave her work unfinished.

He shook his head. "No. It's impossible to vanish the remains of Sticking Potion with magic. It doesn't work."

She gave him a puzzled look. "What? But I always thought..." She had thought that he was just being spiteful by forbidding the use magic for cleaning cauldrons in detention. He had never explained this small, but important fact to anybody. "So, who's cleaning them, usually?"

He smirked. "Usually, I make sure that I have detentions to oversee when any of my classes are brewing Sticking Potion."

"And now? Will you have the house-elves do it?"

He rolled his eyes. If he did that, he was sure that she'd insist on staying and finishing the work herself, despite the fact that she was having a hard time lifting her arms now. "No, that particular kind of soap is much worse on their skin than on a human's. I'll finish it myself later. Here..." He held out her cardigan to her. "You'd better put that back on. You don't want to catch a cold on top of everything else. Even if you don't feel it right now, it's chilly in here."

Hermione obeyed, marvelling again at his caring side that he kept so carefully hidden. He waved her over to his desk and pointed at the chair opposite from his. "Sit. I have a suggestion for you."

Curious, she sat down in what she had began to think of as her armchair, as he once again transfigured it without a second thought. He reached into the shelf with all those horrible jars behind him and took a out a little pot filled with salve which he held out to her. "For your hands."

She gratefully accepted the offered relief. The cool balm immediately soothed her irritated and burning skin. "You know... You are really incredibly nice if you want to be..." she said, watching as he poured two cups of tea and put one of in front of her.

He gave her a scowling glance, as if to belie the statement and his action. "I trust you to be able to keep a well-guarded secret, Miss Granger."

"Oh, don't worry. Nobody would believe me anyway. Your secrets are safe with me." It didn't go unnoticed by him that the last part was spoken like an afterthought and without the teasing note. And although he had just said a common phrase without thinking and wouldn't ever dare to reveal his real secrets to anyone, her words still touched him. What would it be like, he wondered, to really be able to trust someone? He hadn't ever had that luxury. Trust was an entirely foreign concept to him and he wasn't quite sure if he envied people who were capable of trusting others or if he should call them stupid.

"So what kind of suggestion were you talking about?" she asked, steering the conversation back into safe waters and sparing him the need to come up with a response that, most likely, would be lacking again.

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in officially becoming my assistant. I would appreciate having more time for doing private research, and you're more than capable of brewing most of the supplies for the hospital wing and helping to correct the lower year's essays. It's also a nice cover story for the time required to teach you Occlumency. I can't keep giving you detentions – it would ruin your reputation as a Goody-two-shoes."

"I'm not!" she huffed.

"You're not interested?" he asked, taken aback by her spontaneous rejection. Admittedly, it was not the answer he had expected.

"What? No – of course I'm interested! I'd love spending more time with you, and I love brewing. But I'm not a Goody-two-shoes."

Ah! He leaned slightly forward, his eyes glittering sardonically. "I have known that since first year, Miss Granger. For all your trying to be a good girl, we both know you're not. You have this rebellious streak in you that requires a firm hand... but that still hasn't sunk in with the majority of staff. They consider you a paragon of virtue, a shining example to the rest of the student body. Little do they know..."

She blushed. Yes, if they ever learned some of the things she had done... set her Potions Professor's robes on fire in her first year, stole ingredients from him to secretly brew Polyjuice Potion in her second and attacked and stunned the same professor in her third. She had captured and blackmailed a reporter of the Daily Prophet in her fourth, lured the former headmistress into the Forbidden Forest to be abducted by Centaurs in her fifth, hexed a fellow student so he wouldn't get on the Quidditch team in her sixth, broke into Gringotts and stole a dragon in what would have been her seventh year and more or less bullied her Potions Professor into kissing her in her eighth. If they knew all that, they'd doubtlessly be shocked, even more so if they knew what thoughts she entertained about said teacher. Hell, he'd probably be shocked, too. Just to be on the safe side, she quickly evaded his gaze and re-focused on the discussion at hand.

"Do you think the headmistress would agree to me becoming your assistant?"

"Actually, the idea came from Professor Sprout. She's thinking of offering Mr. Longbottom an apprenticeship after getting his NEWTs and wanted him to do some field work beforehand. Let's face it: For a lot of those students who are repeating their seventh year, the curriculum is not challenging enough. Though they have gaps in their education in some classes due to last year's circumstances, a lot of what we're teaching is old news to them. You're not the only one who finds herself bored in classes, Miss Granger. Thus the idea of offering special projects to students with an affinity for a subject. The headmistress was quite taken with it."

"And you think I do have an affinity for potions?"

"As a brewer, yes. As a potioneer? Probably not. But you're the only one I would work with."

"So this is meant to lay the ground for a later apprenticeship?"

He shrugged. "It might. While there haven't been apprentices in Hogwarts for a long time, it used to be quite common a few decades ago. But a couple of teachers are thinking of retiring, and the idea of training their own successors clearly has merit. Poppy mentioned that Miss Abbot might be interested in the medical field. She has proved invaluable during the battle."

"And has the headmistress also suggested that you take on an apprentice?"

"Funnily enough, no."

"I can't imagine why!"

"Cheek, Miss Granger!" he admonished, but hid a smirk. "Apart from the obvious reason of thinking that I would never consider such a thing, she knows that I wasn't planning on staying. Surely not long enough to train an apprentice."

"Oh... You are seriously thinking of leaving Hogwarts?"

He sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. As you surely have realised, I have not become a teacher out of vocation."

"You're still making a good job of it."

"There are not many who would agree with you on that."

"Well, you'll never make it to the top rank of Hogwarts' most liked professors, but students do respect you. Now that you're not as horribly unfair anymore as you were before, I think you're actually pretty good."

"You're probably a little biassed." She had admitted to feeling attracted to him and she had kissed him. It was safe to say that she was a special case among his students.

"Yes. Definitely so. But so are most of the older students who are still here. Let's face it – in three years, hardly anybody will remember your role in the war and how it forced you to act. You can be the teacher you want to be."

"I have zero tolerance for stupidity. That's not a good starting point for teaching mostly dunderheads." He strongly and passionately hated it if people didn't engage their brains before talking or acting, which happened all too frequently. It wasn't so much to ask, really. But some students never seemed to get the knack of it, and that angered him beyond measure.

"Oh come on, we're not all that bad! Most of us are doing a well enough in the NEWT level classes."

"Yes, but only because I set the entrance levels high enough to keep the worst imbeciles out," he argued. "I have no such choice with the younger students."

"Well, then maybe you should work around the problem. Everybody knows that you like teaching Defence, too. Maybe you could concentrate on both NEWT level classes and let Minerva find someone else to teach the lower OWL ones. I know for sure that Remus would prefer working part-time only, and he's really good with the younger students."

He pondered this. It was certainly an interesting idea. Teaching only the older students would give him time for his private research. He could probably do some commercial brewing, too. And Minerva would be happy if he stayed. It wasn't easy to find a teacher for NEWT level potions. The idea was certainly worth more intense consideration.

"Notwithstanding what may happen in my future, my offer stands. So you're interested?"

"Of course I am!"

"Then I will speak to the headmistress. I will see you on Wednesday at the latest for your next Occlumency lesson."


	6. Wands, Whotnits and Weapknats

Summary of Chapter Five – Detention  
  
On Severus’ suggestion, Luna becomes Hermione's new roommate to help with her sleeping problems. In her last detention, Hermione expects her professor to continue their  Occlumency lessons, but he makes her clean cauldrons instead. They come to talk about Luna and her baffling theories and about Draco, whom Hermione has befriended. Severus wonders if there is more to their relations than friendship and shows signs of jealousy at the idea. His reaction makes Hermione angry, and they have a short argument about their awkward situation. Severus apologises. He then proposes that Hermione become his brewing assistant for the remainder of the year, which would give them both a plausible reason to continue their Occlumency meetings. Hermione happily agrees.  
  


_A/N: I hadn't really intended to continue this story on this site. But then I surprisingly got all you lovely comments, and I felt I needed to say 'thanky you'! You rock!_

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**Wands, Whotnits and Weapknats**  
  
When the Potions Master returned to his office after his discussion with the headmistress, he was smirking inside. For the second time within a few days, he had managed to render Minerva speechless. ‘You want to take on an apprentice?’ she had asked, flabbergasted.   
  
 ‘An assistant for potion projects’, he had corrected her. ‘And I want it to be Miss Granger.’  
  
Minerva had wanted to know why he was taking such an interest in one of her cubs, and that question had been a tricky one to answer. After pondering it a moment, he had decided to go with the truth. It was a great tactic with her, as she knew him to never be straightforward or forthcoming. It immediately got her off track and made her suspected something else.  
  
‘You expect me to believe that _you_ are interested in her welfare?’ she had asked incredulously after listening to his explanation, and had snorted. ‘Hah – I see right through you, Severus! You finally had to admit that she’s smart and capable, and you want her for your private brewing!’ He hadn’t said anything else, merely raised his brow, which had confirmed it for her. Still, she was thrilled, just like he had expected her to be, and had instantly given her consent.   
  
He had informed Hermione right after class the next day, and they had agreed to meet this evening again –  to discuss the details of what he expected her to do, and to work out a schedule for regular meetings. With all the brewing she could do for Poppy, the lower classes’ essays she could correct and with her Occlumency lessons, he’d be having no problems to keep her occupied. Still, he couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to seeing her on a regular basis, even though it would make keeping up their facade much harder.  
  
His assessment was proven right when Hermione came to his office that evening, her eyes sparkling with amusement. It was the most life he had seen in them in weeks, and it was all the more surprising since students usually passed through his office door in silent dread or at least with a reasonable amount of discomfort on their faces.  
  
Without waiting for an invitation, she slipped into her usual chair, which he had already transfigured for her without giving it a thought. Taking notice of own unconscious action only now, he sighed. They had gotten entirely too comfortable.   
  
“Have you seen this?” Hermione asked and held up a newspaper.  
  
Severus shook his head, as much in negation of her question as displeasure at his recent realisation. To dispel the notion of exaggerated amiableness, he put on a well-measured frown as well. “If it’s the Daily Prophet, the answer is ‘no, I haven’t.’ I refuse to read that rubbish excuse for a newspaper.”  
  
“It isn’t the Prophet,” she grinned. “It’s actually worse... It’s the Quibbler!” She held it out to him and gestured impatiently. “Go ahead – read it! I assure you it’s worth it!”  
  
Making sure that his frown was still firmly in place, he took the paper from her hand and read.  
  
  
     **Getting the Best of Gloomilows**  
  
     _Luna Lovegood for ‘The Quibbler’_  
  
  
    Largely unnoticed by the wizarding public, a huge epidemic of Gloomilows has broken out at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the aftermath of what is likely to enter historic archives as Voldewar II.  
  
    Although Gloomilows are known to infest places which have been exposed to grief and sadness over an extended period of time, students and staff have been found concerningly uninformed about the nature of the disease. So far, no concerted effort has been made to counter the mass infection, which, unfortunately, increases the likelihood of further spreading. The Quibbler tells you all you need to know about Gloomilows and how to get the best of them.  
  
    Gloomilows, also commonly known as Bluedrags, are extremely small, invisible fungi. They cling to buildings and people alike and feast on magical energy. This makes the infected feel down and bleary, causes a lack of drive and enthusiasm and often a perpetual bad mood. However, as a positive side effect, their waste products make the radiation of a person’s magical aura visible and reveal its specific colour. It is believed that the aura of the victim in the first documented case of a Bluedrag infection happened to be blue, which gave the condition its misleading name. The fact that Gloomilows make people blue (or, for that matter, pink, yellow, green or any other colour) is interestingly well-known also in the muggle world. Even non-magical people have been heard saying things like ‘she’s got the blues’ to describe the condition – although it is doubtful that they are actually able to see the coloured aura.  
  
    Although Gloomilows can spread from person to person, it is unlikely that a single infected person in your vicinity will give you the blues. As a matter of fact, Gloomilows become attuned to the energy of their particular host and only spread if they find a matching climate in someone else. However, in circumstances of mass infection as observed in Hogwarts, chances of catching them from someone else increase exponentially. It is also possible to catch them simply from living in an infested place for a long time.   
  
    A Gloomilow infection is a severe condition and a risk for your health, and should not be treated lightly! Apart from turning latent melancholy to profound sadness and unhappiness, dragging the infected further and further down, victims are running the risk of losing their magic. The sooner it is treated, the better. Once the aura has taken on a deep, rich and saturated colour, healing will be a long process. Thankfully, there are some measures you can take if you are infected:  
  
    1\. Spend time people whose aura balances yours  
  
  
        Gloomilows are highly sensitive to astral radiation that runs contrary to the radiation of their given environment. So find a person whose aura has a colour of the opposing spectrum and spend as much time with them a you can. If he’s also infected, finding each other is relatively easy, provided you are able to see the colour of his aura (if you can’t, you might be suffering from after-effects of a Common Whotnit infection, which sadly are ever-lasting). Maybe someone else can point out such a person to you. It is the surest method to heal, even if the person is not infected himself. Otherwise, you will heal each other. People with opposing auras generally have a high chance of making each other happy, which is why people have been known to purposely get themselves infected with Gloomilows to find what they believe is their soul mate. (Please note that Gloomilows do not reveal soul mates – only Flimflumbies can do that, so we strongly advise against purposely getting infected).   
  
    2\. Try to think at least two positive thoughts per day  
  
        You might want to put them down in writing and read through the ones already pinned down from previous days. This refills some of the energy you lost to the Gloomilows. Once you start feeling better, you may even go for a higher number. This is also a good pre-emptive measure.  
  
    3\. Clean your house  
  
        If you can’t move, fight the infection of the building. Colouring the walls in a light, cheerful colour (ideally pink) has proved helpful. Keep the rooms clean at all times. As it is hard to tell which parts are infected, clean everything. This will also keep you busy, which is helpful in your condition. Beware, however of getting obsessed! It is advisable to purposely create a mess about once a month, which can actually be a lot of fun.  
  
    4. Read joke books, buy good joke products and throw a party   
  
        Laughing is extremely helpful. The vibrations make Gloomilows dizzy. Laughter is also an excellent disinfectant for infested buildings. Though it has not yet been scientifically confirmed, Gloomilows seem to dislike happy sounds of any kind, so singing, listening to someone singing badly, making music or throwing a party can also help. But do not overdo it! Excessive happiness from uninfected people can have adverse effects on you if you’ve got the ‘blues’.  
  
    5\. Dress in light colours,  
  
        ... preferably in pink or anything with glitter. For indiscernible reasons, Gloomilows don’t seem to like either. Avoid black, brown and maroon.   
  
    6\. Eat pudding  
  
  
  
“Well, that explains it,” Severus remarked drily, folding up the paper and shaking his head once more.   
  
“Explains what?” Hermione asked.  
  
“The strange conversation I had with Miss Lovegood when I asked her if she would consider becoming your roommate. She looked at me with those misty eyes and told me in all seriousness that it’d be much better if you moved in with me, given that I was radiating purple, which would be good for you.”  
  
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously? How did you react?” Luna had looked normal and still pretty much in one piece. He obviously had held himself back.  
  
Severus thought back to the brief moment of panic and concern. For a moment, he had only been able to stare at the strange girl in dumbfounded silence, struggling to control his features. Had she found out? Coming from any other person, he would immediately have suspected an attempt at blackmail, but not from her. Miss Lovegood probably had no idea of the concept. “I told her firmly that I wasn’t giving off anything, and if I were, it surely wouldn’t be purple.”  
  
“That was a rather mild reaction,” Hermione remarked, surprised. “I would have expected you to find that such an outrageous and rather cheeky suggestion merited at least a detention.”  
  
“It wouldn’t have fazed her.” He had also tried sarcasm and insults before, but she was completely immune to any kind of maliciousness. Whatever he said, she would accept it with a dreamy expression and look at him as if she in her wisdom knew things he did not. “Nothing can unsettle Miss Lovegood. Believe me, I tried. Besides, what she suggested after that was even more outrageous.”  
  
“What did she say?”  
  
“She told me I should stop wearing black all the time and try pink instead. Gloomilows don’t like it.”  
  
Hermione fought not to laugh out lout when she tried to imagine the conversation. “Oh, to think that she actually got away with that! And you constantly accuse me of being cheeky!”  
  
“Well, admittedly, I was bribed. Miss Lovegood made me a scarf for Christmas in her second year.”  
  
“She gave you a Christmas present?”  
  
“Yes. It was fluffy and baby-pink, heavily adorned with glittering snakes that merrily moved around on it. I guess I finally understand what she intended.” At the time, he had been absolutely shocked – firstly about the fact that a student would bother to give him something for Christmas, and even more so after he had removed the wrapping. He had instantly suspected that it was meant to be a bad joke or that the snakes would attack him any moment. But thorough examination had revealed that the scarf was hideous, but harmless. He had never understood why she had given it to him, but he was certain that, in her strange way, it had been a well-meant gesture. Miss Lovegood didn’t have a single malicious bone in her body. It was his remembrance of this fact that had made him clear his throat and answer her advice with all the civility he could muster: ‘Thank you, Miss Lovegood. But I’m afraid, pink isn’t my colour, either.’ Yes, he could be nice if he bothered to make the effort.  
  
“Just out of curiosity: What happened to the scarf?”  
  
He shrugged. “I still have it. I understand that you are supposed to cherish well-meant gifts, even if they’re dead ugly.” The truth was that he had cherished it. He hadn’t gotten a lot of presents in his life, and the mere gesture had touched him. Though he still had shoved the scarf into the far back of the lowest drawer in his wardrobe so he didn’t have to look at it.  
  
Hermione looked at the Quibbler in her hands and shook her head. “Too bad. Apart from having had to deal with Netherfairies and now with Gloomilows, I seem to also have had a Common Whotnit infection at some point, given that I can’t see auras. Luna would like to know what her own colour is – she thinks she might be suffering from a mild case of Bluedrags herself. She suspects it’s a fluffy candy-pink, but, of course, she can’t know for sure, as you can’t see your own aura in a mirror.”  
  
“So Miss Lovegood feels depressed, too? I thought you said she appeared rather – serene?”  
  
“She does. According to her theory, she’s not so badly affected because Gloomilows don’t seem to like the colour of her aura – which is why she thinks it must be pink. She says it would match nicely with Neville’s lime-green. But then – maybe she’s been spared having nightmares thanks to the plate of milk she puts under her bed every evening, for the Weapknats. Luna claims you can’t have bad dreams if you draw them to your bedside.”  
  
“Of course not,” Severus agreed with a solemn voice. “That’s actually common knowledge in the wizarding world, Miss Granger. Every loving mother puts a plate of milk underneath her offspring’s bed at night. I thought you knew, otherwise I’d have suggested you try this first, before going through the trouble of teaching you Occlumency.”  
  
Hermione wasn’t sure if he was being especially sarcastic or actually serious. “Well, it wouldn’t have worked anyway. I know for sure that it’s Crookshanks who takes care of the milk as soon as the lights go out. So it must be Luna’s pink aura that’s helping her, not the Weapknats.”  
  
 “I’ve never quite been able to decide if Miss Lovegood is intriguing or just a nutcase.”  
  
“Me neither. But you can’t deny that she often sees things that other people don’t,” Hermione said in a more serious tone. “She obviously believes that we’re good for each other. I totally agree with her on that. And she thinks that Harry and Draco should spend more time together for the same reason. She told me that his red and Harry’s hunter green also match nicely.”  
  
Severus gave her a bemused look. “Harry’s green and Draco’s red?” he asked dubiously.  
  
“Yes. Luna found it funny, too.”  
  
He snorted. “I changed my mind. ‘Nutcase’ it is.”  
  
“Actually, I think she’s exceptionally perceptive. I mean – think about it: Their almost instant enmity, their constant bickering and the mutual provocations.... It’s said that love and hate are closely related. Your relationship with Harry supports the theory.”  
  
“I certainly don’t love Harry Potter, Miss Granger!”  
  
“Well, I didn’t mean it literally. But you always felt strongly about him. You said it was loathing, but we both know that’s not entirely true. Sometimes, strong negative emotions can hide something else – you said so yourself.”  
  
“And what do you think might it be that was always hidden by their mutual dislike? Attraction? Do you mean to tell me that Harry harbours romantic feelings for Draco, or that Draco might reciprocate them?”  
  
“Do you think it’s impossible? As far as I know, Draco has never had a girlfriend.”  
  
“God beware!”  
  
“Does it matter to you? That at least one of your godsons cares for his own gender more than for the opposite one?”  
  
“I wouldn’t care if both of them cared for hippogriffs more than anything else. But I surely hope they’ll not start something with each other!”  
  
“Why ever not? There would be such a nice symmetry to it – both being your godsons, one dark, one blond, one exceptionally well groomed, the other one with hair sticking in all directions, one a Muggle-born, one a pureblood... Visually speaking, they’d make a striking couple.”  
  
“Lucius would have a mental breakdown,” Severus remarked. “It’s too bad we won’t be able to witness his reaction, if Miss Lovegood’s theories should ever prove right.”   
  
Draco’s parents had both gone into exile after Voldemort’s defeat. They didn’t dare lay their fate in the hand of the Wizengamot. Their efforts on behalf of ‘the Light’ had been half-hearted at best, and they couldn’t count on the favour of the judges. They had gotten away too often, and the ministry was eager to show resolve and rigidity this time around. Supposedly, the Malfoys had fled to France, leaving their mansion and a large part of their money to Draco.  
  
“So you think it’s possible?”  
  
He shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? Draco doesn’t discuss matters of the heart with me. But... judging what I know about him... no, it’s not entirely impossible.”  
  
“In that case, I’m pretty sure Harry would be interested.”  
  
Severus pensively ran a finger along his lips. So Draco was the love interest he had heard them talk about in her memory... Interesting. “Don’t you dare tell Potter about my speculations regarding Draco, Miss Granger!”  
  
“I won’t,” she promised, her gaze following his finger. His lips weren’t as thin as commonly thought. When not pressed into a hard line, they were actually nicely shaped. Smooth and supple, she mused, not fleshy. Who wanted fleshy lips in a man anyway? His had felt really good against hers...  
  
Severus abruptly lowered his hand when he realised that she was staring at his mouth as if spellbound. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Now, if we have quite finished discussing all your dunderhead friends and their love lives, can we move on to something of relevance and discuss how we are going to schedule our meetings for brewing and those Occlumency lessons?” he asked brusquely. He wasn’t used to being looked at with such blatant interest, certainly not with eyes that seemed favourable and full of longing.   
  
“Of course, Sir,” she said, eager to please, and sat up a little straighter. “What are you suggesting?”  
  
He gave her the options that would work best with his timetable and they agreed on times and dates, and worked out what potions she would be brewing and which essays she’d help him correct.  
  
“I need your wand to link it into my wards. That way, you’ll be able to enter the Potions lab even if I’m absent.”  
  
“Will it take long?” She looked hesitant to part with her wand.   
  
“Just a minute.”  
  
She nodded with relief and handed him her wand, which he eyed with interest.  
  
“Is this new? I remember yours looking different...”  
  
“Yes,” she said wistfully. “I never got it back. Most likely, Bellatrix destroyed it.”  
  
“Why do I get the feeling that you are unhappy with your new wand?”  
  
“Because I am. I really liked my old one. It was smooth, sure and powerful. The new one’s performance seems a bit erratic. I’m still struggling with it.”  
  
He frowned. That was not supposed to happen. “Struggling in what way?”  
  
“It’s hard to describe. I have the feeling that my magical performance is weaker. But the main issue is about reliability.”  
  
“Hm... What kind of wood is it?”  
  
“Beech. Reasonably supple. Twelve and a half inches. According to Ollivander, it’s associated with learning and knowledge. It’s said to be good for research and the Logical Arts Of Magic, particularly Ancient Runes, and, ironically, Divination.”  
  
“Very fitting,” he remarked without a trace of sarcasm.  
  
She looked at him askance. “You’re joking!”  
  
“Actually no. Forget about Divination. We can reasonably assume that in your case, it stands for logic. Beech favours those who are strong-willed and strong of character.” Again, he wondered why the wand was giving her trouble. Beech wands were known to be performing weakly if their owner was narrow-minded, which definitely wasn’t the case with her. Which made him wonder if this had to do with her wand at all or if it was another indication for a slight instability in her magic. “What’s the core?”  
  
“That’s the curious part. It has Dragon Heartstring, like my old wand, but it also has Thestral Hair.”  
  
“A dual core?” he asked, surprised. Dual core wands were extremely rare.   
  
“Yes. Mr. Ollivander was surprised, too. He doesn’t make many of those.”  
  
“Indeed. It’s quite exceptional. But then, beech is rather uncommon, too. – Let’s see...” He got up and perused the bookshelf behind him, eventually taking out the tome he’d been looking for. _‘The Witch’s Wand: The Craft, Lore, and Magick of Wands & Staffs by Alferian Gwydion.’_  
  
“You have books on wandlore?”   
  
“I’m interested in a variety of subjects. Besides, Dumbledore and I did a lot of reading to find out more about the Elder Wand. Did you know that the core of the Elder Wand is actually Thestral Hair?”  
  
“No... It’s kind of fitting though, I guess, for a wand labelled ‘Death Stick’.  
  
“It’s said that Thestral Hair wands can only be mastered by wizards or witches who are not afraid to face Death. Another reason why the Dark Lord had trouble with the Elder Wand. It’s capable of powerful magic – if the wielder has an understanding of himself. Otherwise, his spells will suffer.”   
  
He skimmed the pages, finally finding the page referring to beech wands. “Interesting, Miss Granger,” he said, smirked and cited: ' _The true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond her years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience.'_ – A good match for a know-it-all. It seems as if I was right to call you that.”  
  
“You’re probably better at divination than you think, too.”  
  
“Hardly. I’ve just had years of practice studying the mysterious workings of the minds of children and teenagers. Now, Dragon Heartstring, as you surely remember stands for power, wisdom and devotion. Listen: _‘Having such a wand core suggests that you can be bossy at times, but also have a fiery disposition and have firm convictions, which will lead you down the road to leadership, as well as being devoted and selfless.'_ ” That surely fitted the old Miss Granger perfectly. He wondered what the Thestral Hair had added to that. He found the relevant page and skimmed it, then summarised the important parts for her. “Hm, interesting, indeed. Thestral Hair, just like Dragon Heartstring, is suited for wizards and witches who show strong-mindedness, compassion and wisdom. But whereas Dragon Heartstring is often also associated with boldness, fierceness and ambitiousness, Thestral Hair cores favour more – shall we say – ‘feminine’ qualities in its wielder, like perceptiveness, loyalty, caring and gentleness.”  
  
“Really?” she asked, looking surprised. “I didn’t know that.”  
  
“You’re telling me you didn’t immediately look it up?” He would have bet that it was the first think she had done, especially if the wand gave her trouble. The fact that she hadn’t was decidedly odd.  
  
“I was afraid it might be something gloomy,” she admitted. “Something related to death and loss and sadness.”  
  
“Because you only can see Thestrals if you have seen Death?”  
  
She nodded. She had feared that the added Thestral Hair core was testament to how broken she was... a proof that something deep within her had died, or at least withered. The information she had just been given made perfect sense. What had died was her determination, her drive, her ambition.  
  
“Despite their rather sinister appearance, Thestrals are actually gentle creatures. Herd animals, intelligent and loyal, though they can be fierce, too. I think the dual core is giving you options, Miss Granger.”  
  
“Options?” She looked at him quizzically. Obviously, he had come to an entirely different conclusion.  
  
“Indeed. You still have all the potential for great achievements that you had before, as supported by the Dragon Heartstring. But the Thestral Hair also supports those who chose a less ambitious, less boisterous path. Here, listen to this: _'You can be an incredibly driven and ambitious person when you set your mind to it, but you will often be content with a simple life and simple pleasures. You are often wise beyond your years, even at a young age.’_ He lowered the book and looked at her with great solemnity. “I believe you have found a good match in your new wand, Miss Granger. Your problems with it probably stem in part from your own reluctance regarding the Thestral Hair. Don’t fear it – embrace what it offers.”  
  
What he didn’t tell her was that Thestral Hair wands were known to perform weakly for those who had lost themselves. He didn’t think she was lost – just a bit thrown off track at the moment.  
  
Hermione sat pondering all this new information while he performed a few charms on her wand. If she had had the courage to search for information on the Thestral Hair herself, she could have reconciled with her new wand sooner. Before the war, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Why was she so insecure now?  
  
She hadn’t realised that she had voiced the question aloud until he answered. “You had a lot to deal with. The experiences you made left scars, not just physical ones.”  
  
“So many people suffered really bad things. Compared to most of them, I came out relatively unscathed.”  
  
“And what happened at Malfoy Manor?”  
  
She shifted uncomfortably and averted her gaze. “Well, I suppose you can’t go to war and expect to come out without a scar or two. I survived, while many other didn’t. I should be happy and grateful and enjoy life now that it’s no longer overshadowed by Voldemort. But I don’t know how to do that. There’s an emptiness to everything that wasn’t there before. I can’t describe it.”  
  
“Of course you feel emptiness. The Dark Lord was a dominant factor in all our lives, and his existence defined our actions. With him gone, so has this purpose.”  
  
“That still doesn’t justify feeling like I do most of the time... scared, jumpy, depressed, adrift. It’s understandable for people like Lavender, after what Greyback did to her... She’ll never be the same. Her scars cannot even be hidden under buttoned sleeves. Greyback was there, at the Manor. It could have been me, too.”  
  
He gave her an incredulous look. “And because you haven’t actually been raped, bitten or left with visible scars by Greyback, but just narrowly escaped that fate you think you don’t deserve the right to be traumatised by the experience?”  
  
“I just mean that there’s no logical reason for me to start losing it now. We all suffered. You probably suffered most. And yet here you are – doing your job, getting on with your life without having panic attacks or nightmares. You moved on.”  
  
“You take me as an example for someone living, coping and moving on?” He snorted. “There’s more to life than functioning, Miss Granger. Or so I’ve been told.”  
  
“Yes, there should be. And yet, at the moment, it seems to be all I’m capable of: Breathing, getting up every morning, eating, doing what is expected for the day... But I have no idea what to do with my life. I can’t imagine my future. I came back here simply because I didn’t know what else to do, because I had no other place to go and because I longed for some familiarity after all the madness.”   
  
Yes, that pretty much mirrored his own motives. He had come back because otherwise, he would have felt that he had left Hogwarts defeated. This chapter of his life deserved a different kind of closure. But so far, he hadn’t made any plans either. Except for trying to fulfil his mission, he hadn’t ever had plans for his life. But he could see why she found that unsettling. She, who had always had plans and schedules, now found herself drifting, without the courage or the energy to make decisions. “You’re not the only one who feels that way,” he told her, again revealing more to her than he would ever have imagined. “Just consider this year a time out. I know I do. Time to deal with what has happened, find a new purpose. It will come back to you, just give yourself time. You don’t have to decide anything now.”  
  
She smiled. “For someone who thinks he doesn’t know how to give advice, you’re being awfully helpful. Thank you!”  
  
“Well, I intend to make you helpful as well, so there’s no need to thank me,” he said rather curtly, feeling slightly uncomfortable at her praise. He wasn’t used to be thanked for anything, and she made a disconcerting habit out of it.   
  
“Here... you’re going to need this.” He held out a red quill. “It’s self-inking and charmed to mimic my handwriting – and my style. I can’t have you go soft on my students.”   
  
Hermione took a piece of parchment and wrote down _‘_ I’m very grateful for your help’. The letters immediately transformed into his unmistakable, spiky, but still oddly elegant handwriting and the sentence now read: _‘Your efforts on my behalf have not gone entirely unnoticed.’_ Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Oh, isn’t that interesting...” she muttered, and gave it another try. ‘I immensely enjoy our conversations’ became _‘Listening to your chattering isn’t actually as bothersome as I had expected it to be’_ , and ‘I like you’ almost instantly read: _‘You’re much less insufferable than the rest of the people I have to deal with.’_  
  
“Oh – I believe I’m going to have much fun with this! Does it work vice versa? You know, translating Snape-coded speech back into its actual meaning?”  
  
“Don’t get cheeky with me again, Miss Granger!” he said with his strict teacher’s voice. “I can always make you scrub cauldrons or the lab floor instead of letting you brew!”  
  
“Ah, but that would be such a waste of my talents...” She gathered her things and handed him the sheet of parchment with the transformed notes. “Just so you know...” With a grin that was definitely cheeky, she got up. “I see you tomorrow, then, Professor Snape. And I’m looking forward to it!”   
  


* * *

  
  
_A/N: The citations were actually taken from TUTORIAL 1: WANDS AND WAND CORES by Anna Brelin, which can be found at fanfiction.net_   
  
_Information contained therein can also be found on other website (like http :// mischief managedhpwiz), which refers to Garrick Olivander. So I have reason to believe that most of it is actually Canon._   
  
_As to a potential relationship between Harry and Draco: I used Harry’s coming-out rather spontaneously as an idea for his ‘payment’ to the Netherfairies. It didn’t really play a role at that time. As I was stuck with it in this story, I thought that partnering him with Draco was the most logical and interesting thing to do. It won’t be an important part of this story, however, so I hope you won’t mind too much. Poor Ginny, though! I like Harry just as well with her! I should probably let her find a nice man to fall in love with, probably a muggle whose name happens to be Peter Potter. Arthur would be thrilled, and she could still give birth to Albus Severus Potter, so as not to mess up Ms. Rowling's follow-up stories completely. ;)_   
  
_Oh, and did I tell you that I absolutely love Luna?_


	7. Nightmares

Summary of Chapter Six – Wands, Whotnits and Weapknats

The Headmistress agrees to Severus’ proposal that Hermione become his brewing assistant. When Hermione sees him to discuss the details of this partnership, she shows him an article Luna has written for the Quibbler. Luna is convinced that a mysterious illness has broken out in Hogwarts, brought about by invisible fungi which make people depressed. As a cure, infected people should have close contact to people with ‘matching auras’, which she believes applies to Severus and Hermione as well as to Draco and Harry. 

Severus finds out that Hermione has trouble with her new wand because of the added core of Thestral Hair. She believes it to be a sign of the fact that she is damaged to some degree after the war. Severus disagrees and tells her that the wand is just giving her options.

He gives her a self-correcting quill which shall help her correct essays for him, as it imitates his hand-writing and style. Hermione leaves his office, giving him the experimental note she wrote with it, telling him in his own words how she feels about him. (Or, as Dreamthrower put it: ‘She’s passing notes after class’)

* * *

**Nightmares**

That night, Hermione dreamed again. Her nightmare was familiar by now, which didn’t lessen its impact on her. All her fears, the horrible things she had experienced, even the pain – they were all as tangible and real as they had been when they had first happened. 

As so often occurred, it began at Malfoy Manor. Hermione found herself lying on the floor again, her entire body on fire. There wasn’t a single cell in her body that wasn’t consumed by raw, agonising, excruciating pain. All her muscles and sinews were screaming and contracting in protest, twisting her body into near-impossible positions on the floor, and stretching the bones of her limbs to their breaking point. Surely she would pass out any minute now.

But the relief of blackout never came. Just when she felt herself slipping away, the witch who was torturing her stopped the curse and started screaming at her again. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time! Where did you get this sword? Where?”

“We found it – we found it – PLEASE!” Hermione could barely breathe. Yet she still had enough air to scream when Bellatrix yelled ‘Crucio’ for the third time. Or was it the fourth? Hermione had lost count. It was madness. The shrieking witch seemed out of her mind with rage, while the werewolf was watching her with barely concealed lust as she lay writhing and arching her back off the floor as if she was in ecstasy, not agony. How much longer before she gave away all their secrets, just to make the pain stop? How much longer before she went insane?

“You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! Tell me the truth, tell me the truth!” 

Once more, the dark curse was lifted to give her a chance to answer. She briefly opened her eyes and was blinded by sunlight that was reflected from the chandelier above her. The crystal ornaments looked like icicles. Hermione was lying in puddle of liquid, she wasn’t sure if it was blood. If she concentrated enough, the burning sensation in her body almost felt like cold. If only she could go numb from it. Ice, ice, ice... Hermione tried to concentrate on the wall she had erected around her mind as soon as she had been brought into the room. If only she could retreat behind it and find shelter from the fire...

But the pain started again, the flames consumed her and made her scream. And then, all of a sudden, Hermione felt herself rise from her own body. This was it. She must be dying now. Curious, she noticed that the writhing had stopped, and so had the screams. Everything was silent, the body on the floor lay motionless now.

For a moment, she only felt relief. At least she wasn’t in pain anymore. But strangely, the feeling of profound peace that she had expected with death didn’t come, either. Instead, she felt dread, helplessness, and horror. Harry and Ron were at her side now, both frantic. Had they also died? And why was she still staring at her body, which was lying in a heap in front of her, a body she clearly no longer inhabited?

And although it was obviously soulless now, the body suddenly started twitching. Hermione watched herself get up awkwardly, moving stiffly into an upright position, yet with her entire figure remaining hunched and her head held low. Harry and Ron were calling her name, they were concerned for her and reached out to her. ‘No no no’ Hermione screamed. ‘Don’t go any closer – it isn’t me! It’s an Inferi!’ But neither of them listened, they didn’t even flinch when her curls turned black and her eyes wild. For a brief moment, before hair and features morphed back into her own, Hermione looked into her tormentor’s face. 

Horrified, Hermione could only stand and watch as Harry followed the beckoning Hermione-Inferi into another room. Ron stayed behind – his leg was suddenly broken, and he couldn’t move.

Hermione screamed louder, she grabbed Harry by his sleeves, begging him not to go, not to follow that imposter who had stolen her body. But he didn’t listen. He never did. The Inferi suddenly lifted her eyes, and Hermione froze with shock seeing that they had a reddish glint in them now, and more than a touch of madness. Every hair on her body stood on end. The impostor was going to kill Harry! But before Hermione had a chance to shout another warning, her body – or rather that of the other Hermione – suddenly cracked and split and was torn apart from inside. Something monstrous burst out of her ripped flesh, shedding what had been her body like dead skin. Hermione’s stomach churned at the sight and she could feel bile rise in he throat, which prevented her from screaming a warning even now. Transfixed, Harry stared at the gigantic snake that was coming at him, jaws unhinged, its maw wide open, baring two fangs sharp as daggers. But before the monster could swallow him whole, another person suddenly appeared in the Shrieking Shack, stepping protectively in front of Harry and shoving him out of harm's way. 

Hermione rushed to Harry’s side, digging her nails into his arm as the snake now attacked their Potions Professor. Again and again the dagger-like teeth tore into his throat until it was in shreds, bloods gushing from the wounds like a fountain, and he fell. 

Now it was his body that lay on the hardwood floor in a pool of blood. There was so much of it, soaking into the layer of dust that covered the old planks.

Hermione moved closer and found herself looking down at their professor, the one who’d belittled them and treated them with nothing but disdain, but who had always protected them. He had given everything, his life and his soul to the cause and nobody had ever known of his sacrifices. He, who had always stood alone, who everybody falsely called a traitor, now lay dying in a pool of his own blood, staring up at her with silvery tears leaking from his eyes. Blood was still gushing from the horrid wound in his neck. Instinctively, she cast a wordless skin healing spell. She had gotten pretty good at them – they'd had no one else to help them in the last couple of months. But using it now was ridiculous. Like trying to catch deluge in a paper cup. The spell efficiently knitted minor wounds and scratches, but it couldn’t hold together what was left of his throat. And he had already lost so much blood. Besides, the thin layer of skin that stilled the blood flow also locked the deadly poison in his veins. He was already as pale as death. There was nothing she could do for him. 

Her friends kept tugging on her arm, and she turned her back on the dying man. “Please,” she heard him beg almost tonelessly; it was more a scratchy, rasping sound than a voice. And he used to have such a beautiful voice. She looked at him. His eyes were full of horror and fright, imploring her to do something, anything. All this time he had helped them, saved their lives, and now there wasn’t anything she could do for him. She should at least sit down and stay with him until he was dead... Nobody should die alone, and he had been alone for far too long. But there wasn’t enough time. She had more important things to do. Not able to deal with this, she averted her gaze.

“Please, help me! Don’t leave me!” he pleaded, sounding broken and despairing. She threw her hand over her ears to block out his voice. Ignoring his tears, his pleas and his reproachful eyes she turned to leave once more. 

Harry – she had to help Harry. She had to keep him alive and Ron, and her parents – if she rushed, maybe she could save Fred... or Lavender... or Tonks. She couldn’t save everybody. There were so many dead and maimed and hurt, and there was nothing she could do. She didn’t know enough about healing spells to cast anything efficient, she had no idea what to do about Nagini’s venom. Tears were streaming over her own face now as she started running, trying to get away from it all – the terror, the devastation, the carnage. If only she had studied some more, read books on more advanced healing techniques, maybe then she would know what to do... But she hadn’t read enough. It was never enough. She was still helpless, still had to watch people die because she didn’t know how to save them, still had to disappoint people who counted on her. No matter how hard she tried, in the end, she would fail them...

Crying, Hermione woke up and quickly turned her head into her cushion to stifle her sobs so as not to wake Luna. It always took her a while to truly find her way out of these nightmares and to separate real memories from the torturous imaginations of her overly active mind. This time, most parts of the dream had been real events, like what had happened in Godric's Hollow. In truth, Hermione had never seen Nagini come out of Bathilda Bagshot’s resurrected body, but Harry had, and a few days after it had happened, he had shared the horrific moment with her. She hadn’t been able to chase away the pictures ever since. Nagini had become a reoccurring feature in her nightmares, just as her professor’s presumed death in the Shrieking Shack had. 

It was also true that Hermione had left the dying man behind, although she truly had believed him dead at the time. He hadn’t pleaded with her, though. He hadn’t been able to. In reality, he hadn’t bled quite as excessively as in her dream. As if that made it any better. She still hadn’t done anything substantial to help him, except casting that minor skin knitting spell which had been nothing more than a well-meaning gesture. 

Most of her nightmare had mirrored the real events. Sometimes, that wasn’t the case. Sometimes, worse things happened in her dreams, when her fears and her imagination were running wild, torturing her with ‘might have beens’ and illustrating a fate she had narrowly escaped. 

But no, it wouldn’t do to think of that now... she’d only cause herself to have another panic attack. Instead, she took a few deep breaths, willing herself to calm down and stop crying. She was relatively successful with stopping her sobbing – those months in the tent had taught her to cry pretty much silently. But as if to compensate for the forced lack of sound, it always took a long while for her tears to stop flowing. 

Hermione sat up and slipped into her thick, furry slippers. She would sneak into the kitchen and ask a house-elf for a cup of hot milk and honey. It was what her mother had always prepared for her when she had woken from a nightmare as a child, and Hermione still found the ritual comforting.

It was pointless to try and go back to sleep now, anyway. She’d be restless for hours to come. Careful to move as noiselessly as possible, she put on her Kimono-style morning robe and slipped her wand into its pocket. The dressing gown had been a gift from her parents. They hadn’t known that it was a little inadequate for a place like Hogwarts. Wool would have been much more serviceable than the beautiful silk, but Hermione cherished it nonetheless. 

Quietly she closed the door behind her. It was a long walk from her new room to the kitchen, especially since Hermione avoided the dark, inner corridors which were lined with portraits. They gave her the creeps – she could always feel invisible eyes watching her, and it took all her willpower not to draw her wand and throw random hexes. She tried to stick to the hallways that had windows as much as possible, even if it meant taking a detour. With the moonlight falling in through them and painting everything in a glowing, silvery light those could have been quite atmospheric. But the incoming light also cast long shadows, and combined with the silence in the deserted corridors, the overall effect was somewhat eery. 

She wasn’t particularly at ease walking around alone by night, but the prospect of a warm fire in the kitchen, where some of the house-elves – the ones Hermione had come to think about as the ‘night shift’ – were still hustling about was too alluring. She wanted some company right now, and the house-elves would do just fine.

Focussing her thoughts on the prospect of comfort, she silently hurried through the corridors. She stiffened when she suddenly heard footsteps approaching. Freezing, she turned her back to the wall, her hand going to her wand in her pocket. Her heart was hammering in her chest, even though she knew it was probably just Filch, who was an insomniac. But it didn’t sound like Filch’s rather shuffling gate. This person’s footsteps were lighter, yet more determined, and the light that was nearing the corner was not the yellowish tint of Filches oil lamp, but the bluish tinted light that came from the tip of a wand. And much sooner than Filch’s feet would have carried him over to where she stood frozen at the wall, the light was on her, blinding her.

“Miss Granger?” 

Hermione squinted. The breath she had held escaped from her throat with a sigh of relief. “Professor Snape!”

He lowered the tip of his wand a bit so it was no longer shining straight in her face.

“What are you doing out in the hallways at such an hour?” he inquired, sounding very much like Professor Snape sounded when catching a student out after curfew. Until his eyes widened slightly and a frown appeared on his forehead. Not the angry frown, but the one that he showed when he felt surprise or concern. “Have you been crying?”

Hermione self-consciously wiped her eyes, remembering her dream, and how she had left him to die on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, covered in his own blood, helpless, in agony and all alone. Much to her embarrassment, she felt her tears flowing again.

“I’m sorry...” she said, now knowing what exactly she was apologising for. For being caught out after curfew, for crying like a girl in front of him again or for not helping him when he had needed her.

He was confused about that as well. “What exactly for?”

She pulled her shoulders up in a gesture of uncertainty and discomfort. “I.. I had a nightmare.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “I see.”

“I was on my way to the kitchen for a cup of hot milk and... some company.”

He pondered that for a second, than determinedly gestured her to follow him. “Well then, move along. I’ll accompany you there. Students are not supposed to prowl the hallways at night. It’s a rule, Miss Granger. And though you have a hard time accepting this fact, they apply even to you.”

She found it quite fascinating how he managed to sound so stern and forbidding even when doing something kind. Was that why people never noticed? Did they pay attention only to his words and not his actions? Did they just see his frown and never bother to find out what it meant? How easy they were to deceive...

Hermione instantly felt safe and much more at ease now that he was around. Just seeing him move and breathe softened the horror of her dream, offering visible proof of the fact hat he was alive, that his gruesome death hadn’t been real.

Her professor tickled the pear on the portrait that lead to the kitchen. Funny, how even that gesture seemed untypical and out-of-place with him. Hermione wondered why that was – probably, she decided, because he seemed so self-aware when he did anything he wouldn’t usually be seen doing in class – which was basically everything apart from pacing, sneering, frowning and scolding.

The door slipped open and they entered the huge kitchen with the four long tables that mirrored those in the Great Hall above. The elves of the night shift briefly looked up, but once they saw the professor, all but one turned their attention back to their tasks. As Hermione knew from previous expeditions to the kitchen, those seemed to comprise polishing the silver, folding napkins, ironing table cloths or putting candles into candelabras. 

She and her professor sat down at the table near the fireplace and asked the elf who obviously felt responsible for them for a cup of tea and a glass of hot milk.

“With honey, please,” Hermione added. “Thank you!”

In no time, two cups stood before them, and Severus pulled his chair aside so that he was facing her. He stretched his legs, put his elbow on the table and propped up his chin. It was the most relaxed pose she had ever seen him assume, and it somehow gave her the impression that it wasn’t all that unusual for him to be sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night, either. 

“Why are you up at this hour if it wasn’t nightmares that left you sleepless?” she inquired, not able to rein in her curiosity. Teachers did patrol the corridors to make sure students respected curfew, but only for an hour or two – not at almost three in the morning.

“It’s a full moon,” he just said, as if that was an explanation. Hermione threw him a questioning glance. 

“After two incidents in which Lupin forgot to take his Wolfsbane Potion, I find myself rather incapable of finding rest until the moon sets,” he explained with a sigh. “The only thing that calms me is passing by his door and hearing him yip and yelp.” 

“Oh. Yes, I can imagine why you would feel that way...” Two near-death experiences certainly justified his concerns about having a werewolf in the castle. That he made sure that it was safely in its quarters instead of locking himself away in his own was testament to his protective streak. 

“Now you know what haunts my sleepless nights...” he said, watching her take a sip from her cup. “Do you want to talk about what keeps haunting yours?”

Not really. She preferred not to even think about it, but that had never stopped her dreams from coming back before. Maybe if she told him, if she voiced the terror and the guilt she had felt for failing him... He had already given her his absolution once: the night she had come to him in his office. They had only briefly spoken about what had happened in the Shrieking Shack, and when she had tried to apologise, he had immediately dismissed her guilt as unfounded. They hadn’t really discussed it. But maybe if he recognised her guilt and absolved her from it, it would spare her having to watch him die all over again tomorrow night or any night after.

“The nightmare – it was about you...” she answered before she had even consciously formed the decision to tell him at all, and when his eyebrows rose in surprise, it all came rushing out of her.

She retold her dream beginning the moment she had found herself in the Shrieking Shack. She still couldn’t deal with talking about Malfoy Manor. Even after eight months, the memory was too fresh, like the scars on her arm which she kept just as carefully covered. But the memory which haunted her almost as much as Bellatrix and Greyback was that of the snake attacking him, about the blood, her inability to deal with the situation and the silent pleas she had left unanswered. He didn’t interrupt her, just listened, but once, his eyebrow rose even higher in what seemed to be utter astonishment.

Only when she had finished and reached for her cup to moisten her suddenly dry throat, he finally spoke. “Well, Miss Granger, it seems I find myself indebted to you.”

“What?” Hermione lowered her cup in surprise. “Haven’t you listened?”

“I have. But as you said, it was a dream, and some of it didn’t happen that way. I never begged you to stay. Surely you know I wouldn’t have, not even if I had been conscious enough to do so at the end. I would have told you to hurry up and help Potter with his task. I knew I was going to die when the Dark Lord started talking about the wand. I was prepared to die. But you... not only did you have the presence and the means at hand to save my mission... you also saved me.”

“No. I walked away from you.”

“Only after you had every reason to believe that I was already dead, after you had managed to secure my memories in those phials. I would have died knowing that at least the-boy-who-had-to-sacrifice-himself would receive Dumbledore’s message, even though I had little hope that he would survive his encounter with the Dark Lord without the Elder Wand.”

“You still hadn’t realised that Draco had long since lost the mastery of the wand to Harry?”

“No. Otherwise I wouldn’t have pleaded so desperately with the Dark Lord to let me find the boy. After Voldemort had disarmed me, I was sure I had failed utterly and completely. I welcomed death at that point, Miss Granger. Surely you, of all people, understand why I felt that way.”

Yes, she did. He must have felt just like she had for being unable to save him – or any of her friends who had died that night: Filled with horror, helplessness and survivor’s guilt. Knowing him so much better now than before, she also knew that these feelings of shame and inadequacy would have been many times stronger in him. Not being able to fulfil the task he’d been given and thus being unable to safe the life of the boy whose survival had been his only motivation for years and years – he would have felt like a complete and utter failure. Who would want to live like that? How could anyone live feeling like that?

“And yet I didn’t die,” he continued. “I never really understood how I was saved.”

“You said it was Draco who saved you. And the anti-venom you had been taking for a long while...”

“Yes, but none of that would have mattered if I had bled out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack with those gaping holes in my neck, which by all reason I should have. I had already lost a fair amount of blood, but then the wounds closed somehow. I never understood – I had no wand and I was in no state to perform wandless magic, not even a minor healing charm. But now I know what saved my life – you did. You cast the skin-knit spell on me, non-verbally, at that.”

“Yes, I did. But the spell only grows a very thing layer of tissue over a wound – enough to keep out dirt while it heals. It’s not strong enough for anything as serious as those wounds on your neck. It can’t have held for more than a few minutes.”

“It didn’t. But it was enough for Draco to come and find me. He apparated me straight to St. Mungo’s and left me in the care of the one healer who he knew for sure would do everything in his power to save my life, even knowing I was a Death Eater. Just like you did. You saved me. If not for you casting that spell, I would have bled out before Draco came for me. You have nothing, absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.”

Hermione could only stare at him in silence for a moment. Her pitiful spell had in fact saved him? Had she really managed to save at least one person during the battle?

“And you’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

He raised his eyebrow in disbelief. “In all those years you've had me as a teacher - have I ever been known for doing such a thing?”

Not really. But he hadn’t been known for being nice, for being helpful or for being sympathetic, either. And yet, here he was...

“Well, I just had to make sure it’s not just part of this new and improved you...”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Granger! There is no ‘new me’.” Her professor resolutely put his cup down and got up. “Now, if you have quite finished your milk, we’d better get back to our rooms and get some sleep. We both have classes tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir!” Hermione obediently stood up, too, and followed him out of the kitchen. The cool of the castle hit her as soon as they left the vicinity of the warming fire. It had started snowing just the day before, and Hermione’s Kimono did nothing to protect her from the moist and cold air in the draughty corridors. Severus noticed her shivering and sighed. 

“If you plan on keeping up these nightly visits to the kitchen, Miss Granger, I suggest you invest in a warmer dressing gown. I can’t stand sneezing and sniffling students in my classes, even less so in my lab or in my office.” 

Again, his harsh words were contrasted by the fact that he took off his own robe and wrapped it firmly around her shoulders. It carried his body heat, and Hermione was reminded of her Occlumency lesson, when he had first penetrated her mind. She was enveloped in warmth. As an added bonus, the surprisingly thick and soft material was saturated with his scent – a combination of herbs, woodsmoke and man. For someone whose hygiene had always been put into question, he smelled amazing. Well, Hermione had never believe the rumours that he was hydrophobic in the first place. The fact that she detected a lingering hint of soap when she turned her nose into her shoulder proved the theory wrong, too. If it was the soap that made him smell like this, she wanted a piece of it for herself. Or she’d have to find a way to keep the robe for a while. Surely, he had a spare one and wouldn’t miss this one too badly?

“Thank you!” she said, with a hint of a guilty conscience. He was being nice, and here she was, planning thievery.

“Don’t thank me yet again, Miss Granger, it’s getting tiresome. Besides, I’m merely trying to lower the risk of getting myself infected, and it seems that my chances improve vastly if you wear this. I have a few more ounces of warming fat on my body than you do.”

Sure! Hermione hid her smile and didn’t respond. Just to make sure that she wouldn’t catch a cold and pass it on to him, she didn’t take off his robe when she slipped back into bed a little while later. 

For the remainder of the night, she slept soundly and peacefully.


	8. Occlumency the Second

Summary of Chapter Seven – Nightmares  
  
Hermione has another nightmare of being tortured at Malfoy Manor, of being attacked by Nagini at Godric’s Hollow and of Severus dying in the Shrieking Shack. Too wrought up to go back to sleep, she heads for the kitchen, but runs into Severus on her way. He accompanies her, and Hermione tells him part of her dream, hoping that he will absolve her from the guilt she still feels. More than that, Severus realises that it was Hermione who had cast a non-verbal healing spell at him to stop his bleeding at the time, which probably kept him alive until Draco found him and saved him.  
  
When escorting her back to her room, he gives her his robe, seeing that she is freezing in her thin dressing gown. Hermione instantly loves it, not because of its warmth and softness but because it smells like him. She is determined to not part with it any time soon.  
  


* * *

  
**Occlumency the Second**  
  
Hermione and her professor met again for another lesson in Occlumency the next evening. Neither of them mentioned their midnight encounter. Hermione didn’t bring it up for fear that he would ask about his robe, which he didn’t. He obviously had forgotten all about it.  
  
The only reference he made to the fact that they had both slept very little the night before was to ask her if she felt rested enough for him to use Legilimency on her again. Obviously, he really was concerned about draining her reserves too much, which Hermione thought exaggerated. It hadn’t been as exhausting as he made it out to be, and she told him so.  
  
“You didn’t even suffer a headache?” he inquired sceptically.  
  
“No, I’m fine,” she reassured him. “I didn’t feel any discomfort at all, neither while you were Legilimising me, nor afterwards. In fact, apart from the strangeness of feeling another person’s presence in my mind, it felt rather nice.”  
  
To say that Severus was astonished by her revelation was putting it mildly. Never had he heard someone describe the invasion of his mind as ‘feeling rather nice’. He had only ever had the Dark Lord and Dumbledore rummage around in his head, and though Dumbledore had clearly been the more considerate of the two, neither experience had been painless.  
  
“Well, I chose not to try and overcome your barrier with brute force,” he tried in explanation. “Believe me, you’d feel differently if I had. But as firm as your wall of ice looked at first glance, it was easy to circumvent, even if it required an unusual approach. Furthermore, I didn’t go in very deep or start digging for a particular memory. I just slipped behind your shields and let them come at me. Do you remember what those memories were that you freely offered to me – and why?”  
  
She nodded. “To pass my shield, you projected warmth, which made the wall melt. The feelings you projected called similar emotions to the forefront of my mind.”  
  
“Very good, Miss Granger. An ‘O’ for your understanding of the theory. Yes, that’s the easiest method for a Legilimens to use – projecting a thought or an emotion or pushing an image at you and waiting to see what comes up. Of course, the idea is to not answer such a request for information.”  
  
“So I’m not to use the ice wall again?”  
  
“It’s rather useless now that I know how to melt it, isn’t it? Don’t forget, Miss Granger, this is not primarily about keeping me out of your mind – you can’t – it’s about not letting me see what you don’t wish me to see.”  
  
Hermione pondered that for a moment. What else to use as a shield? She knew that brick walls didn’t work, and everything else she came up with spontaneously seemed equally easy to blast. He had told Harry repeatedly to empty his mind... it shouldn’t show anything, and whatever information he asked for, it should come up blank. But how can something blank serve as a shield? Not keeping him out, but hindering him to see?  
  
The picture of an empty canvas suddenly came to her mind and she clung to that. It probably wasn’t the answer either, but she couldn’t think of anything better right now. “Okay, I’ll try something else, then.”  
  
“Ready?”  
  
 “As ready as I can hope to be.”  
  
“Very well, then...” He lowered the tip of his wand to her temple and softly said: “Legilimens ”  
  
 This time, he found himself standing in front of a wide, blank surface. It wasn’t a wall, and it wasn’t ice, either. It almost looked like an endless clothesline full of pristine linen sheets. Interesting. He conjured up a mental wind, just a breeze to start with, to see what would happen. The cloth started flapping and bulged, but otherwise stayed in place, firmly held on all sides. So this was more like standing in front of a huge screen. The cloth was firm, but certainly not resistant to tearing. However, he found himself reluctant to tear or cut his way in. He examined the fabric closely, looking at each individual thread to find a weak spot or a hole he could pick at. In the end, it was surprisingly easy – with just a little tugging and prodding, a thread came loose, and he only had to pull for the fabric to come undone. The material fell apart, allowing him to slip behind the sheet.  
  
Once again, he found himself standing on the threshold of her mind, which now stretched before him like endless rows of further white screens. He was fairly impressed with her visualisation. Potter hadn’t even come close to emptying his mind like this. But as effective as she was in keeping it clear of images, she wasn’t equally successful in keeping it clear of emotions. They were as tangible as last time, and just as suffocating.  
  
The predominant emotion was one of unease and anxiety, which, at first, he attributed to their current situation of him invading her mind. But then he realised that the opposite was true: The anxiety had been there before – his presence, quite to the contrary, was perceived as a source of calm and comfort. It confused him momentarily and almost threw him off track. Her fear was too thick and tangible, however, to completely lose hold of it.  
  
The strongest unease seemed to originate from recent experiences and a lingering sense of danger. He latched on to that, as it seemed the most dominant and thus easiest to follow emotion, and immediately came upon memories that clearly were war-related. She still feared finding herself in the hands of Death Eaters again, being captured and tortured, being helpless. He caught brief glimpses of Bellatrix and Greywolf in her memories and quickly turned away from them to pursue a different stream of consciousness. Those were memories neither he nor she would want to revisit. He was sure that they often featured in her nightmares, just like the events in the Shrieking Shack, and he didn’t wish to see those either.  
This time, he concentrated on the less sharp-edged kind of anxiety which he was able to identify as her fear of making decisions – something he wouldn’t have expected to find in an always reasonable, resolute girl like her. He saw images and memories of the last year flicker by, when she and both her friends had been out hunting Horcruxes, trying to fulfil the almost impossible mission the headmaster had given them. And he found confirmed what he had always suspected: For the longest time, she had been the one holding everything together. As Dumbledore had once put it, she had been the voice of reason, the brain of the Golden Trio, whom her dunderhead friends always expected to have all the answers. They had come up with the half-baked ideas, but it had been her job to turn them into executable plans, to decide how to proceed best, to somehow make their crazy schemes work. She had carried a large part of the responsibility, as her friends relied on her good sense and her vast knowledge. And all the while, she had staggered under the burden, had constantly questioned herself and doubted her own counsel, feared that she had been wrong and would lead them all into doom.  
  
And there, entwined in those memories of weeks spent in a tent, always hungry, cold and depressed, he found another aspect of her fear, something that ran deeper even than the fears brought on by the war. When he tried to examine it more closely, he could sense her trying to fight him off. Hastily erected screens momentarily obscured the images connected to specific memories, but he was still able to follow the emotion and navigate around the obstacles.  
  
Her most fundamental fear, the one he was following now, was losing people she cared about. Considering that they had just been through a war, this was hardly surprising, but to his utter astonishment her fear was not only for her loved ones’ safety. She was afraid of being left alone, of people turning away from her as she was incapable of connecting to them and holding on to them.  
  
More memories flashed by in quick succession. He saw her as a young girl in a muggle school, always by herself or with grown-ups, as she never fit in with other kids. When she came to Hogwarts, eager to prove that this was the world where she belonged, other students found her weird and were put off by her precocious manner. Until the troll incident, which had somehow formed a bond between her, Potter and Weasley, she hadn’t been able to make any friends. In fact, her relationship with the boys was her first friendship ever, and it meant the world to her. But when her feelings grew beyond friendship for the red-head, he never even seemed to notice her, making her feel rejected once again.  
  
He was struck by the similarities between her and his own past. He had been the odd one out, too, his friendship with Lily the only relationship he had managed to maintain, at least for a while. Until unreturned growing feelings had made things complicated. He had been rejected and left alone – for the longest time, she had been afraid it would happen to her, too.  
  
Her memories of her and Weasley transported him right back into the forest, where he witnessed him turning his back on her, leaving her standing in front of a tent, pale and disheartened. The emotions connected with this memory were saturated with loss and anger, but also the feeling of inadequacy he had noted before and which continued to surprise him. What reason could _she_ possibly have to feel inadequate? But there was no doubt – Hermione Granger, deep down, felt unsure about herself. She feared that people might leave her because what she had to offer was not enough to make them stay. He couldn’t help but realise that these fears were also strongly linked to her sexuality. As she had already confided in him, none of the people she had cared about – however briefly – had been able to satisfy any of her needs, no one had given her the closeness, the sense of belonging or at least the acceptance she craved.  
  
Stricken, he realised that he was one of those people. He couldn’t avoid seeing fragments of memories of himself, dressing her down in Potions for giving a text-book answer, for writing a far too long essay, for brewing an uninspired potion. He also caught a glimpse of himself ridiculing her in Defence and turning her down that fateful night in his office. Her feeling of failure, her disappointment and her sadness made him stumble. He managed to disentangle himself from those threads he’d briefly gotten caught in, wondering briefly if it had been a conscious effort on her part to throw him off balance. He didn’t want to get caught in other memories that showed himself in her mind, so he quickly grabbed on to the thread of emotion he had been tracking before – her fear of loss.  
  
The memories being pulled forward now were confusing. He saw a woman who felt like Hermione in her mind, but clearly wasn’t her. Or was she? She seemed much older. There was she and a man who looked like a clerk or a solicitor, but she couldn’t have memories belonging to other people. The vision didn’t seem particularly dreadful – just a woman doing business, probably in a bank. Why this overwhelming feeling of loss in this context?  
  
Before he could examine it further, he was assaulted by other images; this time it was Hermione talking to the same woman he had just seen. Only now, she was sitting next to a man on a white leather sofa. Seeing all three together he immediately knew that it was the Grangers. But something seemed wrong with that memory, too. Hermione seemed strangely detached, acting cool and business-like, and the Grangers seemed – confused. They were talking about their relocation, and while the conversation was unemotional and very matter of fact, the feelings surrounding them were anything but. Once again, a feeling of loss, the fear of losing loved ones and an overwhelming feeling of loneliness clouded everything, but he could also detect a strong, underlying feeling of guilt.  
  
In fact, the guilt was overpowering. He could feel it swell as he was pondering it, starting to envelop him from all sides and making it difficult to see through it. Again, it would have been a marvellous method to obscure his vision, had it been intentional. He was sure, however, that it wasn’t. He had just inadvertently touched on something that was consuming her. Afraid to inflict damage to the fabric of her mind if he tried to unravel the loops and knots of these particular thoughts, memories and emotions, he gently disentangled herself from them and retreated from her mind.  
  
With his awareness back in his physical body, he saw that she was crying. Small wonder – he had just made her relive all her fears and her losses. He wordlessly handed her a handkerchief and considered moving away to give her space to compose herself. But somehow he felt that distance was not what she needed right now. So he sat with her, watching and waiting quietly for her crying to lessen. Once more he wished he was better at this – or at least free to follow this strange urge that made him want to clasp her in his arms and hold her together while she fell apart.  
  
Instead, he settled on the Englishman’s cure-all for all dire situations and made tea. He patiently waited until she got herself back under control, blew her nose, wiped her eyes and accepted the cup he offered her. Only then he calmly asked: “What happened to your parents, Miss Granger?”  
  
She stiffened, then her shoulders slumped and her head fell forward, hiding her face behind her hair. Her voice, when she finally answered, was so low he could hardly hear her. “I sent them away.”  
  
“I figured as much. Where did you send them to?”  
  
“Australia. I wanted them to be safe, and I thought that was far away enough for Voldemort not to bother.”

  
That surely was sound thinking, and he told her so. “I know that your parents were high on the list of targets, and I repeatedly warned Dumbledore about it. So what happened? Were they found?” He could hardly imagine that the Dark Lord had gone after them on the other side of the world. They hadn’t been that important. But what else could explain this drowning guilt, the intense sorrow and profound feeling of loss that she felt, other than them being dead?  
  
To his astonishment, she shook her head. “No. They’re still alive. But – they don’t remember having a daughter. I obliviated them.”  
  
It took him a moment to fully comprehend what she was saying. It was impossible. She couldn’t have managed such a feat by herself. Targeted memory charms were incredibly complex. Of course, one could always try and wipe an entire mind, but that was not advisable. You could never tell the outcome. The strangest things had happened to wizards who’d been subject to an attempt of comprehensive obliviation. She wouldn’t have done it to her Muggle parents. But targeted obliviation wasn’t on the syllabus at Hogwarts. Those spells were taught to Aurors, ministry workers in the Department for Magical Security or the Bureau of Covert Vigilance  & Obliviation. Of course, that didn’t mean that only those people knew how to cast them. He was reasonably adept at them himself – the fact that he was a decent Legilimens helped. The only other person he had known who excelled at memory charms had been Dumbledore.  
  
“You mean you asked Dumbledore to manipulate their memories?” he inquired, sure that this was what had occurred. “And your parents agreed to that?”  
  
She shook her head, albeit without looking him in the eyes. “I did ask Dumbledore, but he refused to help me without my parents’ consent. But how would I ever get them to consent to wiping me from their minds?”  
  
“You – you wanted to obliviate their minds against their will?” He kept his voice neutral, but inside, he was dumbfounded that Hermione Granger, upholder of rules and moral standards, would even consider such an ethically disputable thing.  
  
“I had no choice...” she said in a voice that reflected the despair she had felt. “I had told them about what was going on in the wizarding world. But I guess to them, it sounded like a bizarre fairy tale. An evil wizard, surrounding himself with mask-wearing minions who called themselves Death Eaters, striving to rule the world... They didn’t really take it seriously, and wouldn’t believe that they could really pose a threat in their reality.”  
  
“In their reality?” he echoed. As if there was another one. “They had a witch daughter. Surely they knew that everything about the wizard world was quite real.”  
  
“No, not really. For them, it always remained abstract. They’ve never been to Hogwarts. They’ve not even been able to step onto platform 9 3/4 and see the Hogwarts Express. For the longest time, I wasn’t allowed to use my wand at home because of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, so they hardly ever saw evidence of magic, either. The Weasleys were the only wizarding family they ever met and talked to, and that was only once, in Diagon Alley. Otherwise, they had no contact with the wizarding world. It wasn’t even a world to them. It was just this one street and a school they had never set foot into. How could I expect them to take it for real?”  
  
She paused and sipped on her tea, while Severus was once again flabbergasted. She was right. Why had he never seen it? Why had nobody ever paid a fleeting thought to how muggle parents viewed their world? The Statute of Secrecy demanded that even parents of muggleborn witches and wizards were basically cut off from their children’s lives. Apart from that one obligatory visit of the headmaster or deputy headmaster when a muggleborn received their Hogwarts letter, muggleborn parents had no contact whatsoever with the wizarding world. There were no open school days or parent conferences, no festivities to which parents were invited. It was amazing that they could be persuaded at all to give their children into the care of people who must seem so strange to them, and to send them off to a place they could never even see. What kind of strain did that put on Muggleborns and their families? They couldn’t really share and remain part of their loved one’s lives. How many other students had been in her position all these years?  
  
“But you told them about Hogwarts and things you experienced, surely?” he asked.  
  
She scoffed. “Like getting petrified by a basilisk? Turning myself into a cat accidentally? Almost being attacked by a werewolf? Flying on Thestrals to London to save a fugitive murderer from a snake-faced megalomaniac? You have to understand that my parents are logical, scientific people. They kept regarding the whole wizard thing as a sort of a cult-like movement of rather eccentric people who had strange and rare talents. Have you ever heard about LARP?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“It’s short for Live-Action-Role-Playing. There are quite a few enthusiasts all over the world who regularly engage in this. LARPs are played in a public or private area and can last for hours or days. There is usually no audience. People pretend to be characters in an often medieval fantasy world, like knights, witches, magicians or even dwarfs. They dress like them and carry appropriate equipment, and the setting is decorated accordingly. That one day in Diagon Alley, it must have felt to them as if they had stepped into the set of an elaborate movie production – a fancy fantasy world some people have created for themselves. To think it was more than that would have threatened their fundamental beliefs in how the world worked.”  
  
“And yet they accepted that their highly intelligent daughter got involved in this – instead of coming back to her senses and doing something – normal?”  
  
“Well, there’s the thing: They always knew I wasn’t normal. I was always the odd one out in school. Hell, I was the odd one out at home, too. Mind you – my parents loved me, but they never really understood me. To them, it was just about having a slightly out-of-the-norm daughter who vanished for the best part of the year to some obscure school in Scotland. They supported me because, in the end, all they ever wanted for me was to be happy. And if I was happy in a quirky kind of fantasy world, they accepted that, too. I’m not saying they never tried to nudge me back into what they perceived as reality, for they did – often enough to get on my nerves. They were still hoping that I would go to University after I finished Hogwarts.”  
  
“To study what exactly?”  
  
She blushed. “Chemistry, most likely. I was my fault, I guess. To explain to them what I learned at Hogwarts, I used a lot of muggle references. When I told them about Potions class, I guess I made it sound a lot like chemistry – working in a lab with volatile substances and interacting ingredients, producing and researching medication... The idea was supported by the fact that they often saw me working on arithmantic formulas for Professor Vector, and in context it looked to them like some obscure, yet advanced branch of science.”  
  
“You never told them about your other subjects?”  
  
“Well, I mostly spoke about my favourite subjects. History of Magic became History, Defence against the Dark Art became Self-Defence, and Ancient Runes already sounded like something archeology-related. I never spoke about Transfiguration. It wasn’t to purposely mislead them – I never lied. I just spoke to them about it all in a context they could understand. And telling them everything would only have worried them, especially since they were helpless to do anything about it. And after a time, I feared that the full truth would have destroyed the idea they had made for themselves about the magical world – whimsical, but mostly harmless.”  
  
“I suppose that your lack of clarity and the fact that you left them in the dark for so long came back to bite you...”  
  
“With a vengeance. When I finally told them everything during the winter holiday of my sixth year – about Harry, the prophecy, the attacks on Muggles, the Order of the Phoenix... they didn’t quite believe me. They probably even feared that I had lost it completely. They just... brushed it off. Saying that if circumstances were indeed as dire as I made them sound, they wouldn’t leave without me anyway. For days I argued with them, implored them, begged them... But they wouldn’t listen. They insisted that either I go with them, or they wouldn’t go at all.  
  
I didn’t know what else to do... I couldn’t let them stay, and I couldn’t leave Harry either. So I came up with this plan. It took me a great part of the remaining school year to research the spells, and to practise them on rats. And I spent the entire summer holidays on finalising the details – organising new identities, settling their finances and preparing their move.”  
  
For a moment, he could only sit and stare at her speechlessly. It was only thanks to the impeccable control he had over his features that he didn’t have his mouth hanging open. “Impossible. That’s an impossible endeavour. Not just the organisation of all of that. But you were never even taught memory spells. You couldn’t have learned them from books alone ”  
  
“No. I had – other sources for the spells.”  
  
“So someone did help you... Who, if not Dumbledore?” No one of the order would have helped her with that. He might have, had she asked him. But why should she have turned to him for help? He had never given her a reason to trust him. And a short time later his actions had shouted loud and clear that he indeed should never have been trusted.  
  
“Well, Dumbledore’s insistence that it was unethical to obliviate anyone without consent gave me the idea. It made me think of someone who was totally unethical and an expert on memory charms...”  
  
“Dear Merlin, girl  Tell me you’re not talking about ...”  
  
But she nodded, and solemnly completed his sentence: “Gilderoy Lockhart, yes. I visited him in St. Mungo’s a couple of times. Do you know what the funny thing is with his memory? He still remembers many things about his life – even in detail. You only have to nudge his memory by giving him the facts first. Of course, if you gave him false facts, like saying ‘you were a famous Quiddich player ’ he’d instantly pick up on that and tell you everything you want to know about his life as a sports star – except that it was mostly rubbish, made up of things he'd heard or read about or just imagined. But if you gave him the right hint, like ‘you were an expert on memory charms’ and ask him how he did them... well, suffice to say I got brilliant instructions. And the best part about it: His ability to move things to long term memory is irrevocably damaged. The next day, he had forgotten that I had ever been there. I didn’t have to worry about him being able to manipulate people’s memories ever again.”  
  
“I can’t believe that Lockhart’s instructions were at all usable ”  
  
“Oh, he might have been a fraud and totally incompetent in every other field of magic, but he really was brilliant with memory charms  Probably better than most people at the ministry. I tried to get information out of Arthur, too, without making him suspicious, just to confirm that what Lockhart told me wasn’t complete and utter rubbish. It was far from that. Lockhart used a two-way charm to target memories very specifically: One to tie all memories concerning a certain event together, and the second to delete it. With my parents, I simply made them forget everything connected to the word ‘Hermione’.”  
  
“So you erased a large part of their memories of 18 years? They will have gaping holes in their minds – there is no way such an extensive charm could work without them noticing that something is amiss.”  
  
“I was aware of that. Lockhart had a solution for that as well: A combination of a Hypnosis and Confundus charm which is used to implant a suggestion. It worked like a self-healing patch that ties up those odd, loose ends. A cover story, if you will, which their minds could use as a structure to fill in between pieces that did not quite fit together.”  
  
“I’m dreading to ask what kind of cover story you gave your parents...”  
  
“Well, it was a bit over the top from a Muggle’s perspective, but compared to the truth, it was downright mundane. I planted the false truth that they had become targets of a criminal organisation because their dental records threatened to expose the identity of an influential gang member. An attempt was made to destroy those records, but my parents happened to walk in on the burglary of their office and were attacked, too. They both suffered head trauma and partial memory loss. Being witnesses made them even more a target, so the government gave them new identities and suggested they move abroad for a while.”  
  
“I suppose you arranged for false identification?”  
  
“Yes. That part was astonishingly easy to do. It was more complicated to open a bank account in their new name and transfer their funds. I used polyjuice to impersonate my mother.” That had been a very weird experience, weirder than anything else she had done with polyjuice before. Until she had been forced to turn herself physically into Bellatrix Lestrange and had seen her tormentor looking at her from the mirror. That memory still caused most of her nightmares and sent a shiver down her spine, even now. Hermione quickly caught her drifting thoughts and focused back on the discussion at hand.  
  
Severus nodded. That must have been the memory he’d seen – Hermione impersonating her mother. “What happened after that? I saw you and your parents in your living room... I suppose that was after their obliviation?” That would explain the weird distance he had felt – and Hermione’s dread.  
  
“Yes. I dressed in a business suit and introduced myself as government employee Harmony Miller, responsible for their case. I told them that I was to help them with their relocation. I wanted to observe their reaction to seeing me and to make sure that the fake memory had taken hold. It was like with Lockhart: I only had to ‘remind’ them of a certain fact – like the break-in into their office – and they seemed to remember. I suppose the suggestive element must have been part of the memory charm he tried to use on Ron and Harry in the Chamber of Secrets which backfired on him. It’s obviously still working perfectly well on himself nowadays.”  
  
That was indeed an impressive piece of magic. Severus knew that it was possible to implant a specific suggestion. But to give a person just the frame of such a suggestion and encourage his mind to come up with fitting images and memories by itself was downright genius. It surely made the fake memory more believable, given that it was built on their own real memories or thoughts. Thank Merlin that such knowledge had never fallen into the Dark Lord’s hands...  
  
“I made sure my parents were aware of the fact that they had experienced memory loss, and that the doctors had told them not to worry about it too much – it would probably all come back to them with time. I gave them their new passports, access to their accounts, their flight tickets and a hotel reservation for their first week in Australia.”  
  
“So how did they react to seeing you, but not knowing you?” He had always been curious if a deletion of memories also nullified the connecting emotions. Knowing how minds worked, he found that hard to believe.  
  
“It was strange. They didn’t recognise me, of course, but I had the impression that they were feeling some kind of familiarity that they explained away with having met me before and finding me instantly sympathetic and likeable.” Or they had interpreted their own reaction as empathy at Hermione’s obvious distress and the fact that she – for inexplicable reasons – had been on the verge of tears during the entire conversation.  
  
“That was some really advanced magic, Miss Granger,” Severus finally said, not sure if he should feel awed or aghast. It must have cost her dearly to pull this off. Still, it was brilliant. She was certainly a force to be reckoned with if she had her mind set on something. To brush all scruples, all questions of morality, all her pain and desperation aside like that and do what she deemed necessary – it rivalled his own determination when doing what was needed of him during the war. Once again, he was stuck by how much he could relate to the workings of her mind and by how similar they were in some aspects. And he also knew that this ruthlessness, no matter how justified, came at a price, at least for someone who still had a conscience. It was apparent in the tremendous amount of guilt she felt for her own actions. He could not condemn her for them. He’d have done the same without hesitation, if he’d been in her shoes, although doubtlessly others would be shocked if they knew.  
  
“In case you were harbouring doubts about it: I still think you did the right thing.”  
  
“You do?” For the first time since they had started talking about her parents, she held his gaze. To see the relief in her features was heartbreaking.  
  
“Yes, Miss Granger, I definitely do. Deceiving people to protect them is better than risking them dying.” It was, after all, what he had done all these years, and, by her own admission, she regarded him as a hero for it. “If you so easily understood, justified and forgave my actions, why can’t you forgive yourself for what you obviously conceive as betrayal of your parents?”  
  
“Because the damage I did is irrevocable,” she said in a small voice. “I thought after the war, when everything was over, I’d give them their real memories back and ask their forgiveness. But – I can’t. I don’t know how.”  
  
“Have you spoken to Lockhart again?”  
  
“Yes. But he has never been interested in restoring someone’s memory in the first place and didn’t have a clue. He kept asking why anyone would want to do such a thing. It seems that the obliviation is irreversible.”  
  
Well, that certainly made sense. Had she been a Legilimens, she could have saved her parents memories before erasing them. If there was a way to restore an obliviated memory, the healers dealing with Lockhart surely would have found it by now.  
  
“I take it that you saw them again, after the war?”  
  
“Yes, I went to Australia this summer, again under the guise of being their case official,” she told him about what clearly had not been a happy journey. “I told them that the trial had been a success even without their testimony, and they no longer were in danger. I told them it was safe to come back.”  
  
“What did they say?”  
  
“They were reluctant. They said that just thinking of their house and their lives back in England gave them a feeling of loss and sadness they ascribed to the trauma they had experienced. They didn’t feel ready yet to face it again, even thought of selling the house and making the move complete. I completely lost it then. I explained my distress with personal problems, telling them that I had recently lost my parents due to a car accident and that they reminded me a bit of them. My mum was so kind... she even gave me a hug and tried to comfort me, which of course made me cry even harder. It was a very distressing visit.” Tears welled up in her eyes again. “I lost them. For me, they might as well be dead.”  
  
“No, Miss Granger,” Severus objected. “They are alive and well. And though you robbed yourself and them of something valuable and irreplaceable, they can still form new memories. You’ll just have to find a different way of becoming part of their lives again.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“You said they seemed to feel a connection. Your mother obviously did. You can always build on that. Their emotional memory seems to be still intact and it might be triggered by you. Who can tell what will happen in the long run? Brains have an astounding capacity to mend themselves. Find out how much they remember on a subconscious level. You can still decide to tell them the truth – even without their memories. Or you can see how much of it you can nudge back – like it’s obviously possible to do with Lockhart.”  
  
“Yes,” she breathed, for the first time feeling a tingle of hope when thinking of her parents, and not just the devastating, oppressive grief, the loss, and the guilt. “Thank you. That really helped. I’ve never spoken about this to anyone. I felt – ashamed.”  
  
Ashamed of her perceived failure, and unlovable for it. Just like the dream she had described to him yesterday. Knowing what he knew about her fears now, he understood the symbolism behind it. She hadn’t recognised the danger they were in when coming upon Bathilda Bagshot and had failed to warn Potter. She thought she had also failed Severus himself, by not being able to help him and by leaving him to die. As if reading any more books on healing or on defence would have made a difference, would have enabled her to save those lives that were lost. Who’d have thought that the girl he had regarded as an insufferable know-it-all could have so many insecurities deep down? And who’d have thought that he of all people would feel the urge to reassure her?  
  
“Tell me, Miss Granger – why is it that you feel that your worth depends so much on your accomplishments, on doing everything right?” he asked.  
  
 “What?” She looked at him with confusion in her eyes. “Why would you think that?”  
  
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You don’t feel guilty for having obliviated your parents against their will. You knew it was a debatable decision in terms of ethics, yet you didn’t hesitate to do it. You did what you thought was best for them. You feel guilty and ashamed for failing to bring their memory back.”  
  
Her gaze changed to one of astonishment, then understanding. “You’re right,” she finally said. “I never realised that.”  
  
“Even in Hogwarts, from the very first day on, you were afraid of failing. It has always been the driving force behind your eagerness to learn, to succeed. And it explains why you always give text-book answers and never dare to experiment in potions, despite your competence in the subject. Why, I wonder? Failure is a necessary part of learning.”  
  
“It’s a bit hypocritical for you to say so, don’t you think? After all, you constantly berated us for our mistakes.”  
  
“Yes, I did. But how does that negate my point? Failure means facing consequences, be it my scorn or an exploding cauldron. You feared my scorn more, didn’t you? Because for you, it equalled disapproval, and that made you feel rejected as a person. It made you feel unworthy. Was it because even at a young age, you felt you had to prove yourself to the likes of Draco Malfoy, who told you that you were beneath him? Do you believe that the only reason your friends keep you around is your vast knowledge that you so willingly share with them – even when it's unasked for, like with Longbottom in my potions class?”  
  
Hermione could only look at him in awe. It was true. All of it. Her self esteem lay in her knowledge and her competence. No one had ever complimented her for being pretty or being nice. She had been an only child, raised by well-meaning and supportive, yet ambitious parents who wanted the best for her. They had helped her discover her talent, the area of interest where she could shine. It hadn’t been the ballet, nor the piano. The art classes she had taken as a seven year had also been pretty much for nothing, as she still couldn’t draw a horse. But she had excelled at reading and comprehending. Her nearly eidetic memory had set her apart from her peers and had made her parents proud, which had encouraged her to continue this path. She had become the typical, precocious child adults found endearing and other children hated. Hermione hadn’t understood why, and had always felt more at ease around grown-ups. It might well be that her predisposition to feel attraction for a man twice her age had been formed in her early childhood.  
  
Hermione had received praise and recognition for her competence. And just like her professor had pointed out, she had somehow subconsciously concluded that she would be rejected for failing. It was a sobering revelation.  
  
He had cut to the heart of her insecurities with surgical precision, laying her inner self open and examining what made her tick with almost scientific interest. But Hermione knew that there was no ill-intent behind his blunt words. His eyes were gentle, full of understanding.  
  
“Nothing you could have accomplished would have changed Draco’s views of you at that time, not even if you had made it Minister of Magic at fifteen. His disdain didn’t have anything to do with you. You’re allowed to make mistakes, Miss Granger. You don’t have to be perfect to be liked, or loved.” He was not only referring to the guilt she felt regarding her parents or the guilt regarding his almost-death, which she had blamed herself for. He was also thinking about her insecurities regarding her relationships – Ronald Weasley in particular, who seemed responsible for most of them, even if unintentionally. And he himself obviously had to bear some of that responsibility as well.  
“Whatever might have been the reason for your friend leaving you when you needed him most – it wasn’t about your deficiencies. It was all about his own.”  
  
Hermione didn’t know what to say to that. She felt like she’d been hit with a board. There were far too many revelations to process, too many new ideas to ponder and too many emotions to deal with right now. He was aware of that, too.  
  
“You should go back to your tower now and get some sleep,” he told her almost gently. “This has been exhausting, I’m sure. Take some time to think about what I said and about what we both saw in your memories today. We’ll discuss your second experience with Legilimency and your efforts to defend against it tomorrow.”  
  
“Yes, I will. Thank you again, Professor. I really appreciate your helping me with this.”  
  
“Think nothing of it, Miss Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I don't update this story on this site anymore. It's completed, however. You can find it on fanfiction. net. Just look for the same author name.


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